


If The Fates Allow

by agathophile



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Bartender Dean Winchester, Christmas, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hockey, Holidays, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kidnapping, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Photographer Dean, Sharing a Bed, Valentine's Day, Writer Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-08-22 23:12:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8304886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agathophile/pseuds/agathophile
Summary: Dean Winchester just can’t catch a break. His rent is going to be late again, he owes his neighbor a new taxidermy pheasant (don’t even ask), he’s blown the last five interviews for jobs he hates, and after a tumultuous year, his Mom has been possessed by the ghost of Mrs. Claus, renting out a secluded cabin and inviting the family to fulfill some domestic fantasy. Hey, at least he can look forward to introducing the love of his life, Cassie, to the family for the first time. Only problem there? Cassie and Dean broke up weeks ago.It’s a rare stroke of luck for him when the perfect solution walks into the Roadhouse mere hours before Dean is due at the cabin for the family reunion. Dean has no idea what he’s signed up for when he kidnaps handsome stranger Cas (actually, world famous author Castiel Novak) to be his significant other for the holiday weekend.(A reimagining of the ABC Family film, Holiday in Handcuffs)





	1. Chapter 1

_ _

_Eighteen hours earlier, December 23rd_

_  
  
_

Dean’s day started out typically, which lately wasn’t exactly great. From the other side of his wall he could hear women arguing in Russian, which as far as he knew had continued unabated since the previous night. He was on the wrong side of the bed, half an hour late, stomach grumbling. That last concern coaxed him out from between his sheets and he padded first into the bathroom and then into the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator with a bachelor’s optimism. He slid out a takeout box and took an experimental whiff, nose wrinkling. With scant hopes of improvement in smell, he carelessly tossed it into the microwave and set the timer, zoning out while he leaned against the counter and waited on the rotating plate. Maybe if it heated up enough to scald his tongue, his taste buds wouldn't be able to tell how old it was. His phone started ringing from his bedroom. 

He padded over and checked the caller ID, letting the guitar riff ringtone play as he stepped back to the kitchen before hitting answer and pressing it to his ear. At that moment a muffled splat sounded from the microwave where the takeout had evidently exploded, noodles and sauce splattered all over the walls of the appliance. 

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, bent over and squinting through the glass.

“Dean? Dean! Is everything okay?”

He winced. “Hi, Mom. Yeah, ‘s fine. Sorry.”

His mother’s voice was garbled by the poor connection and Dean squeezed the phone tight to his ear to make out her words. “I wanted to make sure you’re all set before we head out the door and lose service up at the cabin.” Dean searched his drawers for a clean rag to mop up the mess. “You have directions and everything?”

Dean continued to rummage, bending under the sink in his search. When he stood back up he banged his head on the counter edge, cursing again. “Yeah. I got ‘em.” He rubbed at the back of his head with a frown. He was pretty sure he’d seen an address in his email. His mother babbled on about decorations and snow and despite the connection he was sure her voice was pitched higher than usual. This new Martha Stewart act his mom had adopted still threw Dean for a loop. Evidently she was  _ really _ going all out for Christmas. He wondered how Bobby was faring. 

“I’m planning out how much food we need for mealtimes, and note down any dietary restrictions for Cassie.”

Dean blinked, hand grasping a roll of paper towels. He opened his mouth to correct her but she added, “I’m so excited to meet her, sweetie. What a special Christmas.” Mary continued, “Cocktails at seven, though I know you said you won’t get off work until around then.”

Dean sighed, now wiping the interior of the microwave, careful not to touch any of the muck. “I’ll talk to Ellen about getting off earlier.”

His mother made a satisfied noise. Then, in a hopeful tone, “You think she could be, you know, the one?”

He groaned. “I don’t know, Mom. Look, I don’t really have time to talk about this right now. I gotta,” he gestured vaguely with the paper towel, “get ready for the interview.”

“Oh! And remember to wear that sweater I sent you!”

“The - What?”

“ Good luck, Dean!”

The phone beeped dully indicating that the call had ended. He straightened and his empty stomach groaned forlornly. With dread, he read the time. 

“Crap.”

~~~~~~~

Sleet slashed mercilessly against the early-evening pedestrians who ducked from door to door to car for shelter. Dean hurried towards the Roadhouse and its promise of warmth. The door slammed with more force than usual, but Dean stomped across the damp entryway without a glance spared backward, jaw set.

A few of the patrons swung their heads in alarm and Jo sidled up to him, concern in her eyes. “Whoa, you okay?” Her voice lowered as her gaze met his. “How did the interview go?”

He laughed without any trace of amusement, tugging off the scarf wrapped around his neck. “Pretty sure I didn’t get it.”

Jo waited for him to elaborate but he swept past her, shrugging off his soggy coat. 

She latched onto his arm. “Hold up.” She held out a set of reindeer antlers, jiggling her head for emphasis. Little bells were fastened to the ends of her own felt antlers. “Sorry, them’s the rules.” 

He stared at her incredulously and she popped up on her tiptoes, sliding the headband behind his ears.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he grumbled and slid off the rest of his coat. 

Jo barked out a laugh. “I’m not, but  _ oh my god _ that sweater is definitely a joke. Is that a…fruit cake?” 

The reminder did nothing to improve his mood. Dean’s mouth twitched unhappily and he turned his back on her, advancing towards the bar. “My dress shirt got…” He gestured vaguely with his hand in a circular motion over his chest and wrinkled his nose. “Mom ordered me to wear this thing tonight.”

She regarded him with sympathy until a swinging door startled them both. Ellen Harvelle burst out, eyes flashing and phone pressed between her shoulder and ear. She hauled a box out, slamming it onto the bar counter. 

“For the last time, I can’t help you with your corporate party! I don’t care that you’re willing to put down an advance deposit, damn it!”

Dean and Jo both startled and looked up above the door where an antique flintlock pistol mounted on a plaque rattled against the wood as the door banged shut again. 

Dean eyed it warily. “I sure hope that thing isn’t loaded.”

Jo shook her head with a smile, returning to her customers.

~~~~~~~

Impossibly, Dean’s day worsened. Every dick in Idaho had apparently decided to patronize the Roadhouse that night, which was open until nine o’clock to all ages. It wasn’t that Dean disliked kids. What he disliked were customers yelling at Dean about crying babies and parents that refused to acknowledge the disruption their kids were making. Already two tables had shoved back their chairs and walked out without leaving a single tip. What’s more, the gun plaque had come crashing down to the ground causing Dean to spill an entire tray of drinks. He finally got the drinks remade only to arrive at the table to discover that the patrons had changed their minds and wanted banana daiquiris instead, in  _ fucking December _ . Dean wanted to send the tray flying again, this time on purpose. Instead he returned to the bar, stopping briefly to pick up the gun plaque – now in pieces – and set it aside on the back bar counter. 

Jo must have noticed Dean’s mounting distress because she yanked him into the kitchen. On the other side of the door, Dean sagged into the wall, drained.

“Dude, you’re scaring the customers.”

He dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus Jo, I can’t do this. Christmas with my family? With Mom who’s gone all Stepford on us? In some fucking cabin out in the sticks? There’s gonna be nowhere to hide. We’ll be trapped like  _ The Shining _ .” 

“Look, Dean. You know I’d come with you if Mom wasn’t, you know, completely militant about Christmas.” She then froze, eyes narrowing. “How did Mary take the news about the breakup?” Dean tensed, not answering. “Seriously? It’s been weeks! You can’t spring that on them tonight, your mom will flip her shit.”

Dean shook his head. “Having a relationship was the one thing I had going, I couldn’t just call her up and tell her I’d fucked that up too.” His voice rose and he faced Jo head-on. “I’ve got nothing else to offer! No real job, no…relationship, kids. Hell, I bet Sam’s gonna show up with  _ that  _ happy news.”

“You adore Sam and Jess.”

Dean rolled his eyes, stifling his guilt. “Please don’t remind me.”

“Yeah, fine. What are you going to do? Get on your knees and beg Cassie to take you back?”

Dean quirked his mouth, considering.

Jo lifted her hands in surrender. “Dean Winchester, your life is a fucking joke, you know that?”

As if he wasn’t aware.

She followed the other waiter out the door and Dean pushed himself back upright, shaking his head. He returned to the bar right as a new customer approached one of the stools. The man sat at the bar, setting down a used Starbuck’s cup and shrugging off a large overcoat. Through the mess of thoughts in his head Dean asked the man for his order. 

“A Manhattan, please.” The man finished draping the coat on the bar stool and turned back to face Dean expectantly. He stopped short at the sight of Dean’s antlers and probably-a-fruitcake sweater, but to his credit his expression remained steady. Dean blinked at him. The man’s brow furrowed. “Do you…need to write it down?” Dean cleared his throat, shaking his head absently and turning back around, reaching automatically for the whiskey and vermouth. He made up the cocktail then slid it towards the man, dropping in two maraschino cherries. The man looked up from his palms and Dean registered his weary blue eyes. 

“Thank you,” he said. Before Dean could respond, he added sheepishly, “also, would you mind disposing of this?” He tipped the empty coffee cup towards Dean. 

Dean took the proffered cup. Hovering over the trash can, his thumb brushed over the Sharpied-in name –  _ Cas,  _ the phone number scrawled underneath next to a messy ‘ _ Call me!’ _ , and the hearts drawn in a hasty border around the name. Dean peeked back at the man, mid-yawn yet somehow still alluring. It made sense. Any other night he would probably hit on the guy, too. 

The old-fashioned clock on the wall chimed, six o’clock.

Dean pulled out his phone from his coat, checking it for messages and at that moment, it rang – his brother Sam. Dean picked up automatically. His voice was crackly on the other end.

“Dean? Hey? Jess and I are about to lose service, but Mom made me promise to call you and make sure you two were getting your butts up here.”

Shit. Dean could dread and avoid this moment no longer. He would have to show up date-less and with a damn good excuse. Dean’s heart seized. He hated the image of his Mom’s disappointment in his lie, and  _ pity _ , the awkwardness Sam and Jess would feel on his behalf. Here was Dean, following in his father’s footsteps exactly as John had predicted. Dean’s eyes were watery and his throat growing tight; hell  _ no  _ was he gonna start crying at work. He wiped a rough hand over his eyes and the room came into focus once again and his gaze centered on the dark-haired man at the bar. The attractive man in the well-cut suit with the Starbucks cup - Cas.  _ Cas. _

Trancelike, Dean spoke slowly into the phone. “Yeah, of course.” He watched the man tip the rest of his drink back, and check his watch. He had already done that at least twice. “We’re just…leaving now. Promise.”

“Good. We can’t wait to see you guys. Bye!”

Dean could hear Jess cheerfully echo the farewell in the background. Dean watched as Cas stood up from the bar and followed the sign for the restroom. He hung up, pocketing the cell phone and quickly following the dark suit that was heading for the restroom. “Hey!”

The man froze with his fingers around the restroom door handle. “Is this not the bathroom?”

Dean froze, scrambling. “Yeah, but…” He looked all around, eyes landing on the gun still tucked away on the bar counter. Unthinking, he produced the pistol, concealing it from the restaurant with his body but pointing it threateningly toward Cas. The guy wrinkled his nose and backed away, but the movement was aborted by Dean’s sudden grip on his arm. 

“What the hell is this?”

Dean’s heart pounded. “This? This is a gun.”

Cas regarded the pistol and squinted. “Are you sure?” 

Dean looked down at the antique, his cheeks reddening. “Okay, wise guy. Let’s move it. Outside.” Dean cocked the gun for emphasis, gesturing towards the back door. He stole a glance over his shoulder, making sure he wasn’t spotted. When he looked back around, he saw that the man’s face was draining of color. Dean’s jaw twitched, and he added in a low voice, “Buddy, I’m not going to hurt you.”

With a shove, the men exited the Roadhouse and were immediately assaulted by the cold air. Although after sundown, it wasn’t dark yet. Luckily for Dean the lot was filled only with cars. He could feel the shivering man tense through his suit sleeve where Dean’s arm wrapped around him, his other hand pressing the gun barrel into his hip. Despite his tense posture, the man walked cooperatively with Dean as he steered them both toward the Impala. 

“Look, if this is about money, we can settle this quietly. You don’t have to do this.” 

Dean grit his teeth. The man’s gaze flicked nervously at Dean, and his step faltered. With a sharp movement, Cas wrenched out of Dean’s grip and shoved him, sending Dean sprawling backwards. While Dean struggled to right himself, Cas propelled in the opposite direction towards the restaurant. The man only got in a few strides before his shoes were met with a sheet of black ice and Dean watched in horror as he slid and wobbled for a split second before collapsing to the asphalt with a sharp crack. His body stilled. 

Dean cursed under his breath, rushing to his side. He crouched beside him, taking in his disheveled, motionless appearance. Dean held his breath and closed his eyes when he felt at the man’s pulse, exhaling loudly at the strong, steady rhythm. Dean carefully cradled the guy’s head, checking all around it for any signs of blood or trauma. 

He whispered urgently, “Cas? Hey?” 

Dean had to get the guy out of there. To a hospital, probably. Dean scanned the lot and the street for any bystanders. He was so fucking lucky – the two men were completely concealed in the shadow of a huge commercial van. Besides, most people were racing against the darkness and promise of more snowfall to get inside and get warm. He gathered the man up - no small task,  _ Jesus _ the dude was heavy - and hooked his forearms under the other man’s armpits and then shuffled awkwardly backwards towards the Impala two cars over. By the time the man was hauled up in the passenger seat and buckled in, Dean was red in the face and puffing huge clouds of breath. He looked down at the man’s large hands loosely rested in his lap and bit his lip. Kneeling down, he tugged at the already-loose blue tie from around his neck. He tried not to dwell on the image as he secured the tie around Cas' wrists, then looped it up and through the handle above the door. With an experimental yank he made sure it held, then shut the door. 

Once he slid into the driver’s seat, Dean studied his passenger for a long moment and exhaled deeply. No one else was around to see as he raked a hand down his face, peeled off the reindeer antlers in surprised annoyance, and started up the car.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was on his way to the hospital, really he was. Except there was traffic headed back that direction, and there was a regional hospital on the way to the mountains, which was where Dean was supposed to be heading that night anyways. As he was passing a sign informing him that the exit for the hospital was half a mile away, the man beside him stirred. He blinked his eyes open, and Dean smiled. “Hi there, Cas.”

“Hello?” The man’s voice sounded like gravel. He rolled his neck, bumping his head against the window and groaned.

Dean winced. “Yeah, you hit your head pretty bad back there. Does it feel okay?”

Cas tugged his hands down but his tie held firm. He glared at his hands, then at Dean. “You’re kidnapping me.” 

Dean almost laughed at his petulant tone. “Oh, don’t call it that.”

“What would you suggest I call this?”

Dean shrugged. “Free chauffeur service?”

“You’re making a mistake. If you think a ransom—”

Dean interrupted him with a sigh, clenching his hands over the steering wheel. “Look, Cas. This isn’t a money thing.” 

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Does this mean you’re…a fan? Are you stalking me?”

“A what? I’m – no, I’m not  _ stalking _ you. I’ve never seen you before in my life. You just, fit the profile. Sort of.”

“Profile?”

“Okay, don’t shout at me or anything.” He looked over, testing. He realized that Cas still hadn’t raised his voice once, incredibly, and he looked insulted more than anything at the suggestion he might. “I’m.” He gulped. “Your name is Cas. And I kind of need you to pretend to be my date _. _ There’s this thing, with my family. For the holiday weekend.” Okay, so that sounded borderline insane. 

“You’re completely insane,” Cas said. “And what does my name have to do with anything?”

“Cas, Cassie, pretty interchangeable right?”

“Cassie?” The man shifted to the side to better face Dean, as much as his restrained position would allow. “You need me to pose as some Cassie.” Then, with a note of interest, “You got dumped didn’t you?”

Dean snorted. “I was not  _ dumped.” _

Cas continued, “And now you’re replacing your girlfriend with a total stranger – someone whose name is  _ vaguely _ similar.” He considered Dean, who was pointedly staring ahead at the road. “You recognize that I’m not a woman right?” Dean scoffed. 

Trees loomed high on either side of the highway, which had narrowed to two lanes without Dean noticing. Darkness leached color from the surroundings as well as within the cabin of the Chevy. The watch on Cas' wrist glowed a dull green-blue and each man’s expressions were invisible to one another. 

“You don’t have a clue who I am, do you?” Cas then mused, “And I don’t know the name of my kidnapper.”

He had a point, but it wasn’t like Dean could go back now. No, he had to convince his family that this guy – who was a  _ dude _ , yikes – had been dating Dean for months. His mind raced through all the problems, starting with the whole unwilling-captive part. The truth was absurdly far-fetched. Unbelievable. That was it though, wasn’t it?  _ The truth _ was unbelievable – almost anything in comparison would seem realistic. Dean laughed out loud, realization invigorating him like a shot of whiskey. He cleared his throat.

“My name’s Dean Winchester. I work at the Roadhouse, obviously, where we met a couple of months ago.” Dean wracked his brain for all of the details of his short-lived fling with Cassie that he might have shared - or exaggerated - with his family. Luckily it wasn’t much. “You found my winning personality irresistible. We’ve been…a  _ thing _ ever since. I’m twenty-eight, turning twenty-nine, birthday’s next month. I like long walks on the beach, frisky women,” He looked over, but of course could only see Cas' silhouette. “And guys, every now and then.” A darker thought occurred to Dean. “You’re not, uh, freaked out by the whole guy thing right?” This wasn’t going to work convincingly if Cas was a homophobic asshole. 

Cas tugged once more at his bound hands, and then said acerbically, “If I’m being honest, of all the things that bother me about this whole situation, the  _ gay  _ part wasn’t even on my radar.”

Dean sighed in relief. “Awesome.” Yet another thought weighed on him. “And you’re not married? No kids waiting around for you?”

Dean wasn’t about to borrow some kid’s dad at Christmas _._

Cas hedged, “This is where I should answer yes, isn’t it?”

“Wait, does that mean no?”

Cas said nothing. Dean smiled. He then tried to remember if he’d ever told anyone Cassie was a journalism student. It wasn’t likely.

“What do you do for a living?”

Cas coughed. “I’m, ah, taking a break at the moment.”

Dean shook his head. “Really?” Dental care and a suit like that? It didn’t add up. “No offense. What job did you have last?”

Cas barked out a laugh. “I’m a writer.”

“Like, books or what?”

“Novels. Some…other projects.”

Dean frowned. “I guess that’ll do. Where are you from?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, dude. Come on.”

“Montreal.”

“No shit? A Canuck, eh?” He chuckled. “Alright. My family’s from Kansas, but my mom moved us out here when I was a kid.” There was no point mentioning John. He drummed his fingers. “My brother Sam met his wife Jess in college. They live in Sacramento. Where did you, uh…go to school?” The guy had to be educated from the way he looked and talked.

“Invent something,” he spat.

“Jeez, Cas. It’s not like I’m asking for your sexual history.”

They remained silent for a long while after that, so it took Dean by surprise when Cas spoke again.

“Your actions would suggest otherwise, but you do realize that this ludicrous plan has no chance of working, and your family is going to think you’re a complete psychopath when I tell them what you’re doing, right?” He tugged on his bound hands for emphasis. “Do you plan to hold the gun on me at Christmas dinner?”

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. “Guess we’re gonna find out, Cassie.”

“And I’m not responding to your ex-girlfriend’s name now, nor at any point in the future,  _ Dean. _ ” 

Dean frowned thoughtfully. “Don’t you think it suits? Sassy Cassie?” He looked over at the man, and despite the darkness he felt the daggers the silent man was shooting him. “Yeah okay, not responding. Got it. I can stick with Cas.” Then, with more interest he added, “What about pet names?”

Cas let his body sag into the passenger door as he groaned into the windowpane.

~~~~~~~

The final stretch of road leading up to the cabin was a welcome distraction for Dean. The old Chevy really wasn’t cut out for navigating the snow-blanketed gravel road. It had been at least forty-five minutes since Dean had seen a mailbox, much less another car. A fencepost emerged from the darkness and shone in the headlights, and in the distance he spotted a warm glow.

Dean spoke lowly. “About damn time.” He admitted grudgingly that the place was cute, if you were a grandma. There was even a family of snow-dusted, smiling wood-carved bears holding fishing rods and tackle boxes. 

He recognized his Mom’s car as well as a rental that must belong to Sam and Jess. To the right of their SUV he parked the Impala and cut the engine. Silence settled inside the car. Dean turned to his passenger, who he would have mistaken for asleep if not for the blue eyes gazing out the window. 

He cleared his throat unnecessarily. “I’m going to let everyone know we’re here, and then I’ll be back to get you, so just hang tight okay?” The cold inside was already creeping inside of the car and Cas shivered. “Right back, I promise. Here.” He pulled his coat from the back seat and draped it over Cas' chest. “That should tide you over.”

Dean stepped out of the car, following the several trails of footsteps that led up to the porch, then tested the steps in the darkness for ice. He pried up the large wreath that hung on the door and rapped his knuckles on the wood beneath. There was muffled music and voices now, up close like this. He ducked his head down, counting the passing seconds in his head and sucked in his lower lip. There was a loud laugh and a moment later the door swung open to reveal his brother’s silhouette against the cozy backdrop; it was the first time he’d seen him in person in over a year. The sound of Bruce Springsteen’s  _ Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town  _ burst out as well.

“Dean!” Sam loosely held a glass of wine in one hand but took one step onto the stoop and enveloped his brother in his arms. “We were wondering if you got lost or stuck in a ditch.”

Dean patted Sam firmly on the back before his brother stepped back again. Sam snorted at Dean’s sweater, but it wasn’t like he had room to talk. It looked like a poinsettia - with antlers, inexplicably - was growing out of his brother’s chest. Jess and his mother both rushed to Dean and he smiled and stepped forward to bring them in for a firm three-way hug, planting kisses on both of their cheeks in turn. He waved to Bobby who looked tremendously comfortable in an armchair positioned near the fireplace.

“Christ, it’s cold.” Mary pulled Dean inside past the threshold and he swung the door shut, the jingle bells entwined in the wreath ringing out in a displeased clamor. “Was the drive okay? Where’s Cassie?”

“Out in the car. And yeah, the drive was fine. A little dicey in the dark so we went slow.” Dean scratched the back of his head. “I wanted to give you guys a, uh, warning I guess?” Sam and Jess exchanged a glance. “Nothing serious – Cas just gets kind of awkward when he’s nervous, it’s a coping thing.” Dean gulped. “Yeah, yeah, it’s really weird. He thinks it’s funny – has this whole ‘Ahh! I don’t want to be here, I’ve been kidnapped!’ routine – so just laugh along? I’m sure he’ll get over this once he settles in and feels comfortable around everybody.” Dean spared a glance to Bobby, confirming that the older man probably thought Dean was a moron. Mary looked concerned. “Oh! Yeah. Also, Cas is a dude. Uh. Surprise?”

Bobby snorted and took a long swig from his bottle. Sam started laughing and clapped a hand to the back of Jess. Dean forced an uneasy smile, eyes flicking to Mary. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but held back. Dean had seen her get plenty pissed before, and this wasn’t like that. Of course New Mary was a wild card. Instead she pushed at his arm and opened the front door.

“Well, don’t make  _ him _ wait any longer! It’s chilly out here.”

“Right, yeah. Wait here and I’ll go get everything and…” Dean trailed off, nodding to himself and turning back around. Outside, he rubbed his hands together, trudging back through the snow to the car and frowning at the frost that had already accumulated. He went to the trunk first, slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder then finally heading around to the passenger side. Even in the dark he could make out the silhouette of a head, so he opened the door.

“I’m going to untie you now, but I wanna advise you against making a run for it. Besides, it’s much warmer inside and everybody wants to meet you.” Cas did not speak, so Dean watched him with suspicion while slowly loosening the tie from his wrists. He frowned at Cas' icy hands. “Seriously, we’re in the middle of nowhere and it’s cold as the hinges of hell out here.” 

“You would know,” the other man muttered. Cas' hands were now free and he wasn’t making any moves to bolt. “I’m not a wild animal; you don’t have to look at me like that. I’m obviously going inside to explain all of this nonsense to your family.” He stalked towards the front door and Dean followed him. At the door Cas hesitated for a moment, probably deliberating between knocking and barging in. 

Dean drew up next to him, bags in tow, then asked good-naturedly, “Mind getting the door for me, babe?”

Cas ignored him, opening the door and cutting inside in front of Dean. Dean could see Mary turn around at the end of the hallway, a smile breaking across her face. She strode back over towards them and glanced at Cas for a split second before wrapping him in her arms. “It’s so good to meet you, Cas.” She pulled back without letting go of his arms completely. She regarded his face. “You are the first person Dean has ever brought home for Christmas. He could have corrected a few details, I suppose,” Off to the side Dean chuckled nervously. “Like how handsome you are. Come on in, we’ll introduce you to the others.”

Cas recoiled like an affronted cat. “Listen to me, very carefully.” He pointed a finger at Dean, raising his voice. “This man  _ forced  _ me to come here. He held me at gunpoint, knocked me out, kidnapped me, and brought me to this place as his hostage.”

Michael Bublé crooned from the speaker system to the otherwise quiet room. Cas looked at Mary expectantly, until she finally began to chuckle. From the other end of the hallway, Sam looked at Dean, who rolled his eyes and shrugged. 

“Are you not hearing me? I don’t know what he’s told you, but your son is a crazy, deranged criminal!”

Dean could hear Sam snort and he walked towards them. Mary barked out a laugh. “Yeah, you’re absolutely right! Here, let’s get you some wine, shall we? I hope you’re a drinker.”

“Are you insane? What the Hell –”

“Hey, that’s enough.” Dean patted him gently on the back and smiled. “Mom and I will be right back with something to drink.”

Cas looked stunned. He turned his expression around to Sam who stood there, curious, gazing back at him. Long seconds passed. As if breaking the spell, Sam burst out in laughter again, unsteady on his feet. When he straightened he shook a finger at Cas. “Man, your face. You really have it down. I’m Sam, by the way. Dean’s younger brother.”

Cas stepped close to Sam, lowering his voice. “Look, Sam. You seem like a reasonable person. You might think your brother is a normal person, but he’s not. He  _ tied me up.” _

Sam held up a hand. “Whoa, dude. TMI. I get the picture.” He winked. Jess finally joined them, handing one of two glasses to Sam. He snaked his arm around her waist, bringing her closer and pressing his lips to the side of her face. “And this is my wife Jessica. Jess, this is, ah,”

Cas sighed. “Castiel.”

Jess's smile faltered and her eyes widened, looking him up and down. “No – no way. Castiel?” She giggled, raising a hand to her mouth in disbelief. She yelled over her shoulder, “Dean! Dean get back here!” Jess turned back to Sam, jabbing his arm and gesturing her thumb towards Castiel. “Sam, be honest, did you know?”

Sam’s brow furrowed and he looked between Jess and Castiel, before his eyes suddenly widened and both of his hands practically slammed to his mouth. His wine glass fell to the ground, shattering on the wood. He grabbed Jessica by the shoulders, hauling them both back. “Shit! I am so, so sorry, let me jus—”

Castiel stood there uncomfortably, watching the chaos unfold before him. Dean and Mary were rushing back into the room, running into Sam who was scrambling in the opposite direction for a towel and a broom. Jess was pressed up against the wall, out of the way, her eyes fixed on Castiel in slightly-drunken wonder. 

Dean held back Mary from the glass shards. “Mom, why don’t you and the others go and sit down? Let me handle this with Sam.”

Jess punched Dean in the arm. “Dean! When were you going to tell us? About him?”

Dean looked at her with distracted confusion. He looked at Castiel, then back at Jess and asked, “What, that he’s a dude?” He shook his head. “Look, it’s not like you guys–”

Sam returned then, settling to his knees with the hand brush and began to sweep up the glass shards. From the ground he said, “No, about the whole dating Castiel  _ fucking  _ Novak part.”

Jess giggled. Mary gasped, then asked, “You mean…the author? As in  _ Piper Frost _ ?”

Dean’s mouth gaped like a fish before he once again looked at Castiel, who by now had leaned against the door with his arms crossed, completely unconcerned with the wine spreading over the floor at his feet. Dean bent down, grabbing the dish towel Sam had grabbed from his brother’s side and began to mop up the crimson liquid. “Well…” He laughed, panicking. 

“You can’t pretend like we wouldn’t figure it out.” Then Jess's mouth curved into a knowing grin. “Oh, I get it. This is all very hush-hush isn’t it?”

The towel was completely saturated at this point – way to go Sammy, you bumbling moose, dropping a  _ full _ glass of wine, you’d think someone his size would have better alcohol tolerance – so Dean stood back up. When he looked at Castiel, he wanted to hit himself; it was like putting on glasses. How did he not clue in earlier? Sure, the guy’s hair was no longer Sam-length and he’d lost the dorky glasses, but it’s not like he had aged dramatically. Castiel Novak was supposed to be a bit of a recluse, but you could only do so much to stay out of the limelight when you were the world’s bestselling author of the most popular children’s novels-turned-movie-franchise. Dean was an  _ idiot _ . And if his expression was anything to go by, it looked like Castiel was likely along a similar line of thinking. 

Dean answered, “Yeah – hush hush. Don’t want to stir up celebrity drama, right Cas?” He gulped.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean and Castiel joined the family in the living room for a short while, but Bobby’s increasingly disruptive snores prompted Jess and Mary to collect all of their glasses and take them into the kitchen. Sam’s offer to help fell on deaf ears; no one thought he should be handling any more stemware that night. To Dean’s immense relief, he had successfully steered the brief conversation to Sam and Jess's travels to Idaho.

Once Bobby was kindly shaken awake and rolled off to his room, Mary pulled Dean and Castiel aside. “Listen, boys. Since Sam and Jess beat you guys here they already called the master, and Bobby has to sleep on this level of course. My room only has a twin, so you guys are left with the loft.” She gestured to a wooden ladder. “I peeked up there and there’s a queen, I think. We weren’t exactly expecting two grown men…”

Dean sighed. “It’s fine. I’m sure we’ll make do.” He lifted his hand to the back of her head and brought her in for a quick kiss to her forehead. “Good night.”

Mary held Dean in an embrace and whispered into his ear, “You and I are going to have a chat tomorrow.” She pulled back, then added in a normal voice, “You two sleep tight. Busy day tomorrow – the shed is fully stocked with gear for a little hockey match down on the lake!” She looked between the two men. “Is there anything you need?” 

Dean gestured to his bags with his thumb. “I’m good.”

Mary frowned. “What about Castiel? Where are his things?”

Castiel snorted. “It was a little hard to grab my luggage, considering I was  _ kidnapped,” _

Dean rolled his eyes. “Cas forgot his bag. We’re sharing for the weekend.”

Mary’s brow was furrowed, but she nodded. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

She retreated and Dean turned to Castiel. He swept his arm towards the ladder and bowed dramatically, “After you, princess.”

Castiel fumed, but turned to the ladder and gripped the rails. Dean’s mouth quirked as he watched Castiel climb, eyes instinctively settling on the ascending suit pants. He shook his head and blinked, turning around to retrieve his bags. Looping his arm through the handles, he climbed the ladder, conscious of the creaking noises it made on his way up. The thing looked sturdy enough for a couple of children, but not so much grown men. At the top, Castiel crouched near the bed. Dean wilted – his mother was generous in calling it a queen. Furthermore, the A-frame ceiling was dramatically slanted, forcing both Dean and Castiel to bend down several inches for clearance unless they stood directly below the apex bisecting the loft. 

Still facing the bed, Castiel said, “You’re sleeping on the floor.” 

Dean, squatted down by the bags, looked up sharply. “What? No way, there’s no room!” In fact, there were only about four feet between the foot of the bed and the edge of the loft, which uselessly featured no barrier. On either side of the bed there were matching nightstands. Beside one of them there were hooks from which two matching spa robes hung. With the angle of the gabled roof, the spaces on each side of the bed were impossibly slim. “And there’s only the one blanket.”

Castiel stood firm. “We’re not sharing a bed. I’ll sleep downstairs.” 

Before he could move, Dean held up a hand. “Whoa, hey, we can’t do that. That looks terrible. Besides, Bobby’s room is right next to the couch. You’ll never sleep with all that racket.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Take the bed, it’s fine. We can move the nightstand and push the mattress over so there’s more floor space.”

Castiel crossed his arms, considering. He nodded, and began to slide the nightstand. Dean went over to help, and they drug the table out. Dean definitely took no note of Castiel’s grunt as they slid the bed against the side wall in several thrusts. Then, Castiel said, “Pass me something to sleep in, then.”

Dean sat back down, unzipped his duffel bag, and rummaged through his hastily assembled things. He grabbed a t-shirt and his one pair of pajama pants, tossing them to Castiel.

Castiel caught them, turning them over in his hands thoughtfully.

“What, not your usual silk pajamas, Mr. Fancy-Pants?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Turn around,” he ordered. 

God, but his voice was low. Dean complied immediately, settling at the edge of the loft and letting his feet settle on the top rung. He couldn’t hear any movement. After a minute, he asked, “You need a hand or something?” No response. Dean frowned. “Uh, Cas?” He peeked over his shoulder, then pursed his lips in irritation. The man had somehow already changed and climbed into bed, tucking himself under the covers and angling away from Dean. Dean stood up, banged his head on the ceiling, and noticed that Castiel had also slipped one of the pillows onto the floor. “Thanks,” he said, eyes crinkling softly, once again to silence. Dean got on all fours beside the mattress, fluffing the pillow before settling down. He’d slept in worse conditions. His eyes slipped shut.

~~~~~~~

The bells on Jo's antlers sounded much louder once the noise level in the Roadhouse died down. They chimed annoyingly in time with her rough strokes against the bar counter as she scrubbed against the sticky remnants of spilled whiskey and eggnog. She harbored some foul thoughts for Dean, who had left without even a cursory cleanup or a goodbye. Her frown deepened when she noticed a tan coat hanging on the backs of one of the stools. She hadn't seen the guy who had been sitting there for a long time. She pulled it off and went behind the bar where they kept the lost and found, folding it up loosely and tucking it into the bin. It was an odd thing to leave behind, given the weather. Then again she worked in a bar, so there was a high bar for what constituted ‘odd.’

She tended to a few customers, passing back and forth between the tables and the kitchen. On one of her passes, she glanced at the plaque where the antique gun ought to be hanging. The thing had fallen down once or twice before and they were always careful to tuck it away out of sight. Jo's forehead creased as she checked drawers and other nooks and crannies to no avail. "Shit." Then she heard a faint buzzing coming from the lost and found bin.

Jo pulled the coat out and dug around in the deep pockets, retrieving a cell phone. It beeped forlornly, a low battery notification flashing across the screen. There were several missed calls and texts. She set the phone on the counter and emptied the other pocket, drawing out a wallet. She flipped it open and sucked in a breath. She replaced both the phone and the wallet in the pockets, then roughly dug her own phone out from her pocket. She tapped Dean’s icon and drummed her fingers on the counter with the phone pressed against her ear.

“Come on, come  _ on _ , pick up you loser.” When Dean’s cheerful voicemail greeting began to play, she groaned in frustration. After the tone, she whispered urgently into the phone, “Dean, call me back. Right away. You take off without a word the same time a customer disappears without all of his shit? Oh, and not just any customer but apparently Castiel  _ fucking _  Novak? Mom is gonna freak when she sees the gun is gone. What the hell dude? Call me back. I don’t know what kind of shit you’re in right now, but I’m a little worried.” She sighed. She opened her mouth to continue, but pulled the phone back and ended the call instead.

~~~~~~~

**Christmas Eve**

_ The man’s nose wrinkled up, face contorting. He finally spoke, spitting out each word. “You, Dean Winchester. Are.  _ **_The devil_ ** _.” Dean chuckled and shrugged, turning the volume up on the radio until Judy Garland’s voice filled the cabin. _

Dean could tell that Castiel was cold.  _ Really  _ cold. The idiot was wearing Dean’s t-shirt and bottoms along with his parka, which he had left on the downstairs coatrack. His feet were covered in his own dress shoes. The overall picture was ridiculous, and Dean would laugh if the guy wasn’t trembling so much. Dean shrugged out of his coat and held it out to Castiel. It wasn’t as heavy as the parka, but it was warm from Dean’s body and wasn’t dusted in snow. Castiel shakily unzipped the parka and pulled off the sleeves. Dean couldn’t see well in the darkness, but he imagined that Castiel’s skin was probably drained of color. He quickly slipped on the warmer coat one arm at a time and hunched over, breath shuddering out. Without a word Dean cranked the heat as high as it would go, blasting them like a furnace. He shook out the parka and draped it around Castiel’s shoulders, roughly tucking in the sides. 

After a few minutes of the slow crawl - the car  _ really  _ wasn’t made for these conditions - they reached the cabin, but Dean stopped the car far short and turned to face Castiel fully. “That was a boneheaded move back there.” Castiel was still curled forward, his hands having snuck out at some point from the sleeves to fan out in front of the vents. “It’s a good thing I found you when I did. You would have frozen to death on that road.” His eyes were shut but Castiel’s nostrils flared. Dean self-checked his tone. He was upset, but at the same time it wasn’t like Castiel’s motivations were a mystery. More calmly, he spoke again. “Look, I understand why you did it. If the shoe was on the other foot…” he sighed. There was no easy way to do this. “Kidnapping you was a mistake. I had no idea who you were, but even still, it was wrong. Back at the Roadhouse – I panicked. Something in me just broke. I don’t even know.”

Castiel cracked open one blue eye, considering him. Dean thought there might be some color returning to his cheeks. “If you know it was wrong, why won’t you take me back right now?”

Dean sunk back into the seat and shook his head. “I can’t – I can’t do that. I just can’t. You have no idea what it’s been like these past few years. My mom,” Dean swallowed. “She was sick. It got real bad, and then in the middle there Bobby had his accident. So then Dad,” Dean exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling the wheel under his hands violently. “He fucked off with  _ Kate _ . Stuff was bad for a long time. All Mom ever says is how much she wants to see Sam and me happy, settled down and starting families. For so long she was planning for when she was gonna…” Dean trailed off and squeezed his eyes shut, ducking his head.

“This is only for this weekend.”

Dean trained an eye on Castiel, trying to tell if that was a question or a statement.

“I’ll consent to this charade for that period, and nothing more. I never have to see or hear from you ever again, in my entire life, after this weekend.”

Dean swallowed and nodded emphatically. “Cas, I swear. Two days. Then I take you anywhere you like, do anything for you. I’ll owe you a huge favor, no questions asked, just say the word and–”

Castiel shook his head firmly. “No favors. Just a ride back to Boise and then get the hell out of my life.” He stared at Dean, gaze sharpening. “And if you so much as transmit a  _ brain signal  _ towards the press about – any of this – I’ll have you thrown in prison. You’re lucky I’m foolish enough to even consider this.”

Dean licked his lips, nodding to himself once again. He held out his hand to Castiel. “It’s a deal.”

Castiel hesitated, then shook his hand. He said, “I’ll accept your deal. I’ll convince your family I’m the love of your life; the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” His gaze intensified and he added, “I’m a  _ very _ good storyteller.” He opened the car door and swung his legs outside, turning to address Dean over his shoulder. “You get to deal with the fallout when this is all over, I’m gone, and your family inevitably finds out the truth. I think that will be punishment enough for you.” He exited the car and strode for the cabin without a backward glance, leaving Dean alone in the Impala. So much for eggnog. For the first time since the Roadhouse, Dean felt truly out of his depth. 

~~~~~~~

For the second time that morning, Dean awoke to an empty loft. This time sunshine lit up the space and Dean could hear voices and the smell of bacon drifting from downstairs. He spared only a moment to wince at his aching back before crawling to the edge and swinging his legs over to climb down the ladder. Mounting panic and lack of sleep manifested in wobbly legs as he descended. His attention was momentarily seized by the landscape outside – a sweeping expanse of blinding white sunlight glittering off white blankets of snow covering the ground and that clung to the tree branches. Mountains and slopes invisible at night now stood prominently above the tree tops amid a blue winter sky. 

His brother jerked his attention back to the cabin interior. “Look everybody, it lives!”

Dean breathed out in relief at Sam’s cheerful tone, assuming that Castiel had stuck with the plan after all and probably hadn’t made another run for it or wrestled anyone for car keys to escape. Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, who leaned dangerously far back in his barstool at the kitchen counter. He smirked at Jess's hand that stealthily snaked around Sam’s back and urged him back to all four legs. Dean padded into the kitchen, rubbing at his sore back. His mother wished him a good morning, smiling brightly. Dean frowned at the sight of everyone, even Bobby, already dressed and apparently past their first cups of coffee. Something about his family was slightly off – maybe they stood stiffer than usual, or they’d had too much to eat? It was impossible to tell. It had been too long since he’d seen them that his sense of ‘normal’ was well out of date. His gaze zeroed in on Castiel at the table, who looked surprisingly well-rested and put together, wearing Dean’s cable knit sweater and looking like a sexy Mr. Rogers. Dean scraped back a chair at the kitchen table across from him and slumped down into the seat.

In a stark contrast with their tense earlier encounter, Castiel returned his stare with wide, innocent eyes, and affected a compassionate tone. “We saved you some breakfast. I thought it best to let you sleep in this morning, since you’ve been exerting yourself so much lately.”

Dean scowled. 

Mary stood up to retrieve the coffee pot. She looked to Castiel. “Another?” She looked down briefly at Castiel’s nearly full mug. 

Castiel smiled appreciatively at her, the motion crinkling his eyes and sending a jolt through Dean. “Thank you Mary, I’m fine for now.”

Dean crossed the kitchen to the refrigerator in search of leftovers, frowning at the sight within. “Mom, you made…brownies?”

Mary replied, “Actually, Cas put those together, for later tonight.”

Jess added, “Honestly it should be you wooing him, Dean. I mean, just look at hi—”

“—Hey!” Sam interjected. “Careful. Your husband doesn’t want to start getting ideas about his wife and the rich, famous author.”

“Mmm, don’t forget handsome.” Before he could object further, Jess cupped Sam’s face and pulled him in for a long closed-mouthed kiss.

“Do you guys mind?” Dean protested. “It’s too early in the morning for me to be defending Cas' honor. I haven’t even had my first cup of coffee.” He smiled at his mother who was already tipping the pot over a mug at his seat. 

Bobby snorted. “It’s after eleven, sleeping beauty. Your beau there has been up for hours already fending for himself.”

Castiel leaned comfortably back into his seat. “It’s been easy so far. Luckily I’ve plied them all with baked goods and distracted them into telling me your embarrassing childhood secrets.” His eyes glittered and Dean gulped, unsure if the man was joking or not. The whole nice-guy act was deeply unsettling; he almost preferred the honest-kidnapping-victim routine. 

Settling back into her seat, Mary clapped her hands together. “Oh! I was just getting to the one where Dean wandered downstairs into that dinner party with those panties. He’d gotten into the suitcase in the guest room and grabbed a little souvenir.” Dean dropped his head to his arm. “Oh, but she was mortified when you walked up and tried to lay them out on the coffee table. What a way to meet Ellen!” 

Jess broke up the laughter first. “Hey, speaking of, what’s the story there anyway? We’re all dying to know how you two managed to meet.”

Everyone, including Castiel, looked at Dean expectantly, who raised his head reluctantly. 

Dean smiled. “Well, it was the damnedest thing, really,” he looked back at Cas, trying to convey his cry for help with a look.

Castiel, the bastard, feigned innocence and waited.

Dean sipped from his mug before speaking. “Well, Cas was at the bar during one of my shifts and we struck up a conversation.” He recalled their slippery exchange in the parking lot and smirked. “I guess you could say that Cas fell hard, pretty much immediately after we met. He was knocked right off his feet.” Neither Dean’s wry grin nor the amused glint in his eyes diminished, despite the lasers now shooting from Castiel’s glare. Well, what he assumed was a glare. The guy really had a poker face. Or maybe he just always looked some variation of pissed off. 

Castiel spoke up as everyone turned to him. “Actually, Dean had no idea who I was, and flirted mercilessly.” Cas covered Dean’s hand – the one not wrapped around his mug – with his own and looked straight at him. “I’ll never forget the look on his face when he realized. I took pity on him after that.”

Jess spoke again. “So these months must have been hard, keeping it secret and all during your promotional stuff for  _ the Final Crossing. _ ” 

Sam’s eyes widened at a thought. “Dean? Does this mean you  _ finally  _ read the Piper Frost series?” 

Dean rubbed at his nose. “Well, you know how busy—”

“Dude, what the hell?” Sam looked to Castiel. “Why do you put up with my idiot brother?” Jess punched his shoulder and he shrunk away from the blow. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered.

Dean frowned, then retorted, “Cas likes that I haven’t read the books. That way he knows I like him for his body and not just the mere products of his mind.” He smirked. “Besides, you and Jess like all that nerdy shit more than me.” He lifted a fork to his lips. “No offense, babe.” He smiled at Castiel, mouth full. 

Sam scoffed. “Ha! Says Mr. goes-LARPing-on-weekends with Empress of Nerds, Charlie Bradbury.”

“Who told you about that?” He swiveled his face around to Mary, who was innocently sipping from her mug. “That was one weekend! She promised me there would be babes and booze.” He looked to Bobby, who remained quiet. His expression was distinctly unimpressed. Dean abruptly swiveled and pointed his finger at Sam. “Hang on, nice try there buddy. Aren’t  _ you  _ the one who drunkenly writes fanfiction about Piper and that were–”

“Dean!”

Dean grinned, victorious. It didn’t take long for him to demolish his breakfast. As he slid the dishes into the sink, Mary clapped her hands together. “Alright everyone, some of us have lazed around enough this morning don’t you think? I say it’s finally time for some fresh air.”


	4. Chapter Four

Suffering from no small amount of cabin fever, everyone dressed quickly into their warmest gear, eager to escape outside. After coming back down from the loft and stepping into the mudroom, Dean scowled at the sight of Castiel already bundled up in some more of Dean’s clothes. The bastard had to have snatched his stuff while he was still asleep that morning. In addition to Dean’s parka he was clad in Dean’s snow pants, which evidently were a bit small. Dean’s eyes traveled downward, briefly resting on the clearly outlined curve of – 

“Dean! Damn it boy, are you deaf?” Dean’s head snapped back to the present and he instinctively sidestepped as Bobby swung the door open and rolled outside onto the patio. 

His brother mirrored his puzzled expression as Bobby’s gloved hands pulled a stocking cap down around his face. He examined them both and raised his eyebrows. “What? Did I sprout a second head?”

Once the rest of them piled out into the cold behind him, Jess exclaimed, “Oh my God, Cas! Was this you?” She ran out to the edge of the yard in long strides.

A glance from Dean over to Castiel revealed nothing; the man was now busy tying the laces of his ice skates together.

Facing toward the tree line, Bobby intoned, “Shouldn’t you boys be hauling gear down?” Sam and Dean exchanged a glance as Bobby rolled out towards where Jess stood, Mary walking beside him. When they were out of earshot, Dean turned to Sam. 

“Wow.” Sam breathed out, leaning to the side and speaking lowly to Dean, “Cas went out this morning to clear off the patio.” He pointed at the ground where they stood, where indeed the snow had been swept aside into two rows. “He must have gone and shoveled a path all the way down to the dock.” 

Dean watched Bobby’s retreating back, connecting the dots. The brief rush of warmth that flowed through him immediately soured when he remembered the game Castiel was playing. Damned, stupid, fake do-gooder had gone after the cripple. Of course he had. He scowled and stomped over to Castiel, who had stood up with his skates slung around the back of his neck, ignoring his brother’s curious look. Too loudly, he announced, “Cas and I’ll grab the goals and meet you down there.” 

Dean grabbed Castiel roughly by the shoulder and dragged him towards the shed, crowding him around the corner against the wall, nostrils flaring. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  
Castiel met his gaze with disbelief. “What am _I_ doing? I’m upholding my end of the bargain, which you’re jeopardizing right now.” To emphasize his point, he glanced over Dean’s shoulder at the retreating forms of Jess and Mary, who each carried buckets with hockey pucks.

His hot breath landed on Dean’s face and Dean backed off, suddenly aware of the scant space between them. “Yeah, yeah. Just. Leave Bobby alone? He hates special treatment.”

“It’s not a big deal, Dean. You’re the one making a scene. I simply thought that it would be easier for everyone to head down with their gear if the path was cleared.” At Dean’s skeptical look, Castiel sighed. “And that it would be nice if he could leave the cabin of his own volition and spend time with people whom he loves. And,” he paused, unsure. “I had to keep myself busy, physically.”

Dean considered for a moment, staring towards the ground in concentration. He nodded and raised a hand. “Alright, fine. No more talk about it.” A thought occurred to him. “Hold up, what’s with the brownies by the way?”

To Dean’s surprise, color rushed to Cas’ cheeks and the man pursed his lips. “Baking helps me to calm down.” He crossed his arms. “People love brownies,” he added defensively in that gravelly voice, a deep furrow settling between his brows. 

Dean raised his hands placatingly. “No argument there, Mary Berry.” He nudged the shed door further open and took hold of one of the cold bars that made up the goal. “Help me out with this thing.”

Dean and Castiel passed Sam and Jess on their way back up the road for the second goal. The trail wound through snow-laden evergreens and opened out into a sharp decline that dropped straight down to the boat ramp. Exhaling hard puffs that caught the sunlight like clouds in the freezing air, Dean abruptly set his end of the goal down and took in the view for the first time. The sun shone brilliantly off of a lake ringed by more snowy trees. He could discern swirling patterns in the ice that covered the water; it looked like a slab of expensive marble. 

“Can you imagine it, the whole world disappearing behind ice? I bet the fish think it’s the Apocalypse every year when the lake freezes over,” Dean mused.

Castiel angled his chin towards the other man, squinting against the light. “That’s an interesting idea. Although I believe the word  _ apocalypse _ refers to ‘an uncovering.’”

Dean’s eyebrows raised as the man took on a mechanical tone.

“It would make more sense to apply the concept to the springtime thaw, to parallel the Apocalypse’s vision of heavenly secrets that makes sense of earthly realities.” He quirked his mouth at Dean’s expression. “But I doubt the fish have developed a religious dogma that sophisticated.” 

Dean studied the man’s face, but his expression was inscrutable. “Gee thanks, Mister Spock.” There was no recognition in the other man’s eyes. He shook his head, grasping the goal once again. Nerds the world over worshipped this guy and he hadn’t even seen  _ Star Trek. _

They carefully toed down the steep road, grunting with the effort of hefting the goal. After stopping to lace up their skates, Sam and Dean placed the goals across from each other on the side of the lake where the banks were conveniently close together so that the five of them wouldn’t be off skating for miles to retrieve every wayward puck. Luckily the buckets were brimming with scuffed pucks for that very purpose. The five of them also stuffed their pockets full of them for convenience. Jessica, Mary, and Castiel skated a few laps to warm up. Jess moved with ease on the ice, switching effortlessly between skiing backwards and forwards. Mary was shakier and slower, glancing to her feet often. Meanwhile, Bobby situated himself on the dock, his wheelchair-bound state leaving him as the de facto spectator and referee. He barked out some corrections to Sam and Dean until he was satisfied with the placement of the goals. They met in a half circle at the center of their makeshift rink. 

Mary gestured with her chin to the group. “How are we supposed to split up the five of us?”

“Well, Dean and I have the most weight, but Jess is probably the most experienced skater here,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow towards Dean and Castiel, looking for any contradiction. 

Dean turned to Castiel, who had crouched down to re-lace his skates. “You any good at this?” Castiel looked up at Dean and shrugged.

Sam said, “How about I take Jess, and you go with Mom and Cas?”

“Why do you get to have Jess?!” Dean exclaimed.

Jess laughed. “Aww, do I scare you Dean?”

“Shut up. You’re the only professional here.”

“As an Ice Girl at Stanford! I’m not any better at hockey than you. Plus you’re twice my size.” She turned to consider Cas. “I’ll take Mary and Cas and you two goons can pair up against us.” She pointed at Mary. “So these guys don’t break your ribs how about you stick by the goal and act as keeper?”

They all conceded, splitting off three-on-two. Mary pulled a puck from her pocket, tossing it in the air to Jess for the face-off. Jess grinned at Sam. “You’re going down, Winchester.”

~~~~~~~

The first and second times Castiel scored Dean chalked it up to an unspoken agreement between him and Sam to let Castiel get some past them so that he wouldn’t be  _ completely  _ humiliated by inevitable defeat. However, once Jess and Castiel each score again, Dean found it harder and harder to trash talk Castiel and the women when he and his brother hadn’t gotten even one point on them. As Jess outmaneuvered him yet again, Dean’s grin faded away, replaced by a furrow in his sweaty brow as he focused on the game. He and Sam had played this when they were kids, they should be more accustomed to each other on the ice. Instead, more often than not Dean’s passes to Sam sailed wide of him and Dean struggled to make space in order to make shots on the goal out of the few passes he got from his brother.

Meanwhile, Castiel responded with even more speed and strength. For a guy who supposedly sat on his ass in some LA mansion and wrote all day long he sure was fast. More than once he tricked out Dean or Sam, working with Jess and Mary to outflank the Winchester brothers. 

Bobby hollered down from his perch on the dock, “You boys know the point of the game is to score on the other team, right?”

Dean finally regained possession of the puck and skated full tilt towards the goal. Castiel beared down on him, pressuring Dean away from the goal. Dean feinted, twisting quickly to get past but Mary had ventured out away from the goal and towards him. To his right, Sam was skating towards the goal on the other side of their mother, so without hesitation Dean sent the puck sliding that way. Jess caught up to Sam, slamming into him at his front. Knocked off balance, Sam raised both him arms in placation like a cornered bank-robber, allowing Jess to break away along with Castiel to score once again. 

“Jesus Sam, what the hell!” Dean skated over to his brother angrily, punching his arm none too gently. “That’s the third time you just gave it away!”

“It’s just a game.” Sam’s cheeks were red and he didn’t want to meet Dean’s eyes. He pushed his brother off of him and skated back towards the center of the rink. 

“Tell that to the all-star team who’s already scored on us five times in twenty minutes,” Dean growled. 

“Oh, come on. Mom is — and she’s my wife, and he’s Castiel Novak!” Closing his eyes for a second and taking a deep breath, he continued in a level tone, “I don’t want to sleep on the sofa tonight and I really don’t want half the world sending me death threats online after finding out I bruised his rib!”

“Yeah well you could have mentioned you were going to wuss out  _ before _ they kicked our sorry asses. I would have asked Bobby to play instead.”

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” Castiel skated over to them with the expression of an attentive waiter., betrayed by the wicked glint in his eye. “Would you rather we wear blindfolds?”

Jess laughed and added, “My husband is just worried about us delicate womenfolk. You know, benevolent sexism.” 

Dean shook his head, disgusted. He pointed at Castiel with his stick. “You’re a damn cheat, letting us think you suck.” Castiel only smirked.

The players lined up for the face-off. Sam and Jess's sticks clashed and the puck went whizzing off sideways. Dean and Castiel dashed after it, Dean with a head-start. He reached the puck first, pivoting around in a tight circle only to look up into a chest hurtling into him at speed. Dean had time only to briefly meet wide eyes before his back was slammed to the ice by a body crushing his chest. Their sticks skittered across the ice beyond his reach and his mouth opened wordlessly, the breath knocked out of him. He opened his eyes and once the static-y stars dissipated he saw only a very concerned-looking Castiel. Up close it was easy to see the sweat soaked into his hairline, dark tendrils plastered to his forehead and sticking out at all angles. His chest was rising and falling in quick bursts and Dean found that his own squished lungs struggled to take in much-needed oxygen. 

Grimacing, Dean grit out, “Hey, at least I caught you this time.” Castiel’s startled expression softened out into one of restrained amusement. Dean’s nose wrinkled. “You smell like Sam’s dirty gym bag by the way.”

Castiel huffed out what might have been an actual  _ laugh _ , head dropping briefly to Dean’s chest right beneath his right shoulder. When he lifted it again, Dean absently noted how close Castiel’s nose was, and the salty little droplet winding it way down the bridge to dangle at the tip, just shy of falling. Dean’s eyes flicked down to Castiel’s parted mouth where swirling breaths collided with Dean’s neck. Dean felt a visceral charge shoot down his limbs, numb as they were, when he finally dragged his eyes up to meet Castiel’s. Everything else in the world fell away. It would be so easy to lift one of Dean’s gloved hands to the back of Castiel’s neck and pull it close, or to flick out his tongue at that persistent bead of sweat  _ still  _ on his nose, and wasn’t his mouth actually kind of chapped? Dean was pretty sure he had some chapstick in the pocket of the parka Cas was wearing. He could spread the balm across those lips and then Cas would taste like artificial watermelon, and maybe Cas would shift his legs to press more on his groin or lift off his chest just a tiny bit so he could fucking  _ breathe,  _ damn it, really the guy was the furthest thing from a feather, and—

“Dean? Are you okay?”

Dean blinked and sounds rushed back to fill his ears. His brother’s head was a black silhouette against the sun. He felt Castiel rise to his knees carefully and Sam was reaching for Castiel’s arm to help haul him back on his skates, brow still furrowed as he stared at Dean. Dean exhaled and rose to his elbows. Jess was watching him from behind Sam, her knowing expression decidedly less concerned. Dean looked away, glad that he was likely already red in the face from the game.

They resumed playing for another fifteen minutes, but it was clear that the game was winding down with sloppier passes and shots and neither team scoring. Once Dean noticed Mary wince briefly, clutching at her side, he held a short, silent conversation with Sam and decided to call it a game. Smile plastered on, Dean declared he wasn’t interested in tarnishing his and Sam’s athletic reputations any further that day. Besides, Bobby’s snoring had grown too loud to ignore. By the time they had collected all the errant pucks and dragged the goals back up the hill it was nearly two o’clock. Despite Mary’s protests, Castiel assisted Dean in returning the goals to the storage shed. 

Castiel broke their silence. “It’s a good thing I was going easy on you. Despite the kidnapping, it would have been excessive to break one of your ribs.”

“I thought we were sq— hang on,  _ easy _ ?” 

Castiel snorted, but his voice was gentle. “You’re forgetting that I grew up in Canada. With four big older brothers, by the way.”

“I didn’t forget,” Dean lied. “I just pictured more of a  _ Anne of Green Gables  _ upbringing. Not  _ Slap Shot.”  _ Belatedly, he said, “Four brothers - no kidding? I would’ve pegged you for an only child.” 

“Hardly. My mother had six of us before telling my father that unless the Pope was available for babysitting, she wasn’t relying on the rhythm method anymore.”

“Your mom sounds pretty cool.”

Castiel nodded, growing quiet. 

They were the last to get back to the cabin. Bobby was evidently down for a mid-Winter nap and Sam and Jess were in their room, probably showering. Castiel strode past Dean to the guest bath and shut the door, leaving Dean alone with Mary. He stood on the doormat awkwardly, melting snow dripping off onto the floor. He wrinkled his nose at the hardwood, already covered with tracked-in, snowy filth. 

Mary followed his gaze and chuckled. “That’s driving you crazy isn’t it? No point cleaning up much in here before dinner, though. Sam and Jess are on prep and you know how they get with the flour.” Dean nodded, though he didn't know how they got with the flour. He absently wondered how Mary did. 

Castiel emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his hands together. His eyes were bright and he looked squarely at Dean, who quirked his brow, questioning.

Castiel said, “I heard we’re off the hook until dinner?”

Mary replied, “Of course, Cas. You’re never ‘on the hook’ around here. As our guest you’re welcome to anything at all.”

“Thank you, Mary. Dean and I just wanted to take a nature walk while it’s still light.”

Mary smiled knowingly and Dean wanted to correct her, tell her it wasn’t like that. But that’s exactly what he was supposed to want her to think, right? The fact that she was suggesting as much was only proof that his scheme was unfolding perfectly. So why did winning feel so much like losing?

Dean hadn’t progressed past shedding his gloves, so getting ready to head outdoors again was not nearly the event that it was that morning. He and Castiel left the cabin in a moment, and out on the porch Dean turned to Castiel to question his intentions. Before he could speak, Mary burst out. 

“Dean!” Cradled in her hands like it was alive was an old camera bag. “I was meaning to give this to you later when we exchange gifts, but I thought you should take it on your walk. In case you feel inspired.” 

The sight of that camera froze Dean momentarily, but the jarring vulnerability in his mother’s eyes lent him the strength to conceal his unease with what he hoped was something akin to a smile. He reached out for the bag, slinging the strap over one shoulder and then walked down the porch steps into the snow. Mary said nothing as she slipped back into the cabin. 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean regarded the other man up and down, unable to conceal a smile of amusement. Castiel looked like a dorky eskimo, fur-trimmed hood flipped up and arms too puffy to lay flat against his sides, like a fat penguin. He reached one of his gloved hands out towards Dean, and Dean stared at the thing like it was a dangerous weapon. Did Castiel expect them to hold hands for their walk in the woods like a pair of Viagra commercial actors? Dean hesitated but then slotted his own glove into the other man’s. After all, he reasoned, someone inside could still see them from the windows. Instead of following Dean down the porch steps, Castiel stood still and Dean searched his face, questioning. Castiel’s eyes flicked curiously to their linked hands, then back to Dean’s face.

“—you not hear me? I said to hand me the scarf.” 

“What?”  _ Oh. “ _ Oh sure,” Dean muttered as he dropped Castiel’s hand, cheeks stinging from more than the icy air. “Sorry.” 

“No.” A smile broke across Castiel’s face very slowly as he took in Dean’s fluster. “It’s fine.”

Dean pulled the scarf free from the camera bag strap, handing it over wordlessly. Dean wondered how the guy was supposed to breathe under all his layers  _ and  _ an added scarf. Maybe that was his tactic for hiding from the paparazzi, not that it would prove to be much of an issue out here. 

They set off in silence, Castiel leading the way. Dean was surprised when he led them away instead of towards the road. As explanation, Castiel gestured silently toward the same tree line from earlier that lay between the cabin and the lake. Rather than trek back down towards the dock, however, Castiel veered off onto a trailhead that Dean hadn’t noticed before. Dean’s boots sunk into the untouched snow and he kept his gaze downcast to watch each careful step. A few yards in, Castiel stopped to extend an arm out to a tree, head tilting back to view it’s full height. Dean’s gaze followed his. Although it was still afternoon, the sun was already cutting rays through the branches at a blinding angle. It would only take a few hours before the sun would set and drag the temperature down even further with it. 

“So…” Dean began, “Why’d you arrange for some one-on-one time? You’re supposed to hate my guts.”

Castiel lowered his chin back down to meet Dean’s eyes. “I don’t harbor ill will toward you, Dean.” At Dean’s skeptical expression, Castiel dropped his arm and sighed, adding, “Not anymore. You’re no saint by any means, and you could possibly look into some professional psychiatric help, but you’re not a terrible human being.”

Dean clutched his hand to his chest. “Cas, I’m touched.”

Castiel shut his eyes and exhaled. “I saw how much stress you were under back at the restaurant. It’s not the first time I’ve witnessed someone having a mental breakdown.” 

Dean’s first thought went to the crazy fans over the years that wound up on the ten o’clock news, but then he wondered if Castiel was referring to someone a little more personal. He looked at Castiel expectantly, a silent prompt to elaborate. The other man remained quiet, so Dean let it go.

Castiel spoke again. “May I ask you one question? Why?”

Dean’s chest tightened, but he responded evenly, “You mean, why’d I do it?”

Castiel nodded.

“Well, like you said. Mental breakdown. I told you most of it in the car. I—” He looked down, unable to put the swirling thoughts and feelings into words. “I don’t know? It doesn’t make sense now, but,” he rubbed his gloves together, friction sending heat to his tingling fingers. “I thought I could convince Mom everything was okay with me. If I showed up without a date, everyone would realize I’m a failure, that I’m the person my dad said I was destined to become.” He smiled sadly, gesturing at Cas with his arms. “With you here, I get to pretend to have my life together. Hell, with the added bonus of dating a ‘superstar’ or whatever it is Sam and Jess are convinced you are.”

Castiel wrinkled his nose in distaste at the moniker. 

“I’m not trying to curry sympathy here or anything, don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to make it out like my shit’s worse than anyone else’s, there’re lots of folks out there suffering more than me. I guess I’m just trying to apologize for draggin’ you along. You’re not exactly a ‘terrible human being’ yourself. Kind of the opposite.” Dean still stared intently at the ground but added deliberately, “I am sorry Cas.”

Dean wasn’t sure when the shadows had fallen over them but he noticed them now, along with the way they sapped heat from his face and extremities. Too still, his feet were growing numb. It would probably help on the sincerity front if Dean were to follow up his apology with eye contact but for some reason he found it impossible to bring his gaze to the other man. Instead, Castiel clasped his hand on Dean’s arm, grip light.

“Your apology is…meaningful to me. Thank you, Dean.”

Dean unfroze, his eyes seeking out Castiel’s. He was surprised to find him looking even more uncomfortable than Dean, almost shy, blue eyes slanted away. Without a word Castiel set off again, forging new tracks in the snow deeper into the thicket. Dean followed, pressing the camera hanging around his neck to the right side of his chest to keep it from knocking against him. The old Leica always inspired myriad emotions, chief of all guilt. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. 

Once he caught up to Castiel the two of them trudged in step. It required enough effort that the sound of their exhalations felt loud in the relative silence of the snow-blanketed mountain landscape. They hiked for about a half hour; so lost in his own thoughts, Dean couldn’t be sure of the passage of time. After a sharp incline and several switchbacks, the ground evened out and Dean came to a stop and rested his hands on his knees. He was huffing and puffing, sweat tickling down the back of his neck. When he raised it, his eyes first scanned the tops of trees extending out far beyond his range of sight before focusing closer on the other man in the foreground. To his chagrin, Castiel was standing tall and close-mouthed, the only sign of his exertion in the slight rise and fall in his chest, buried deeply under his hundreds of layers.

“You sure you’re not dying down there underneath all that?”

Castiel replied merely with a twitch of his mouth. He then nodded towards Dean’s camera. “You going to use that at all?”

Dean pursed his lips, looking back out over the trees and the jagged shadows they cast before the setting sun. He opened his mouth to speak, twice, before shaking his head. 

Very softly, Cas said, “No, I get it.”

Dean raised his brows. “Do you?”

“Artist’s block, right? You pick up the camera and don’t even know where to start. Inspiration is lacking. Every late-night idea that strikes you seems foolish the next morning and you feel like a fraud. You wonder what you’re even doing, if this is what you really want anymore. Yeah, I get it.”

Dean faced the other man fully, surprised. Rather than bristle at the inaccurate assessment, he was intrigued at the revealing admission. Dean recognized projecting when he saw it. “I don’t really know anything about you, do I?”

Cas looked almost bashful. “I must admit, it is refreshing to spend so much time with someone so…wholly unfamiliar with both my professional and personal life. And equally perplexing that I seem to be working to undo that.”

Dean shifted on his feet. “Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of a recluse?” Castiel gave Dean a look and Dean raised his palms defensively. “Hey, I haven’t been  _ completely _ living under a rock. Only like, in the shade of one. I know about Piper Frost and her little wizard friends. I see people dress up like them every Halloween with the cloaks and the wands and the…stuff. I know things. Like how you’re supposed to be a recluse. Right?” He sounded less sure, but Castiel did not dispute it. Legs burning a little, Dean spotted a log that was too bench-shaped to be a coincidence. He roughy brushed aside the snow and squatted down to sit, patting beside him in invitation. Castiel joined him and Dean extended his legs out front, leaning back on his hands. Castiel kept his arms loosely crossed, as much as the clothing would allow.

“Even then, you might be surprised by what Google digs up on me. The yearbook photos, old resumés, rumors all along the spectrum from partially true to absurdly erroneous—”

Dean waggled an eyebrow. “Sex scandals?”

Castiel didn’t bat an eye. “Naturally. Depending on who you ask I’m homosexual, have six illegitimate children with several prostitutes, am responsible for my parents’ murders thirty years ago, and am a wizard who was hit with a memory charm and believe I’m an NMP.” 

“An enem—, a what?”

Castiel raised his eyebrows and spoke each word slowly. “Non-magical person?”

“Oh, it’s really embarrassing that I don’t already know that, huh?” Then his eyes widened. “Hang on, your parents were murdered?”

“Yes,” Castiel said gravely. 

Dean’s mouth fell open and he straightened, drawing his legs up.

Castiel smiled. “Yes to the embarrassing part. My parents both retired to Santa Barbara a few years ago.”

“Oh.” Dean’s body slackened again. “That’s a big change from Lumberjack Country.” He gestured around them with his thumb.

Castiel shrugged. “California is endlessly enticing, especially for the rich.”

Dean wondered if Castiel’s parents were always wealthy or if his fame had made them so. “Were you going back  _ there _ for Christmas?”

“You…disapprove?”

Dean looked pained. “Come on man, Christmas with palm trees? I get that the snow’s a pain in the ass but there’s something wrong with wearing a bikini on Christmas.”

“I wasn’t planning on wearing a bikini on Christmas.”

Dean suppressed a smirk. “You know what I mean.”

“You realize there are billions of people in the Southern Hemisphere celebrating Christmas at the height of Summer, right?”

Dean waved his hand dismissively. “So what about the other stuff — with the hooker and the…gay thing.” As soon as the words left his mouth in a somewhat-less-than-casual-tone Dean wanted to face palm.

Nevertheless, Castiel replied, “Both falsehoods, to the best of my knowledge.” 

Dean frowned. “Oh.”

Castiel glanced sidelong at Dean, then said, “I find sexuality complex and elusive, but for simplicity I consider myself asexual.” Pointedly, he added, “It is not formally public knowledge.”

Dean’s brows raised in understanding and he pantomimed securing a zipper over his mouth. “Hey, no one will hear it from me.” Unable to withhold his curiosity - yet completely able to repress the source of it - he asked, “What does that mean, for you specifically? Do you still date or have sex or…” Dean gulped, then smiled uneasily. “I mean, as a doting boyfriend I should have probably figured this out a bit sooner, recluse or not.”

Castiel’s eyes flashed. “Since our ‘relationship’ is purely fictional and only barely consensual, I am under no obligation to expand on my answer.” His eyebrows knitted together and he added, “that being said, I’m feeling…loquacious.” Castiel stared ahead and Dean felt inexplicable warmth towards him as he realized that the man really unpacked his vocabulary when he was feeling tense or vulnerable. “I’m amenable to the concept of dating. I don’t necessarily crave carnal relations like many people,” Dean mouthed the words ‘ _ carnal relations’ _ to himself, covering his incipient chuckle with a short cough and Castiel continued, “but like anyone else I am not immune to loneliness. I seek out intimacy in all it’s forms and from many sources whenever it is both essential and practical.”

Dean privately reminded himself that this guy wrote  _ children’s fantasy  _ books. “Essential and practical, huh? You sound like a hopeless romantic to me, Cas.”

Ignoring that, Castiel turned to Dean, contemplative. “What about you? You haven’t told me much about your romantic history. Is it your usual  _ modus operandi  _ to kidnap your dates?” Dean blinked and Cas parroted, “As a doting boyfriend I should have probably figured this out a bit sooner.”

Dean laughed at that, the sound bursting from his chest unexpectedly. “Yeah, alright. Fair enough.” He scratched a phantom itch on his nose and said, “For the record,  _ no,  _ I reserve the whole kidnapping at gunpoint routine for the extra special ones. So, congrats on that.” He shook his head, still chuckling. Castiel was smiling too, incredibly, and Dean wondered not for the first time if maybe the guy was more than a little eccentric. Emboldened, he confessed, “My girlfriend Cassie cheated on me a couple weeks ago. With some coworker. Totally Sarah Marshall’d me, naked scene and all.”

Dean was convinced the reference would go right over his head, but Castiel interjected, “That’s the one with the vampires in Hawaii right?” Dean’s eyes widened, jaw no doubt landing in the snow. Castiel waved away Dean’s expression, flippantly adding, “I’ve had coffee with Judd Apatow a few times.”

Dean nodded for a solid thirty seconds. “Yeah…yeah Cas. Of course you have.”

Cas rested a gloved hand on his arm and Dean stared at it. “You were saying?”

Dean didn’t want to speak, which was true for him as a general rule when it came to the details of his personal life. It wasn’t worth wasting a normal person’s time with his baggage, much less someone as—

Castiel’s face was soft. And close.

Dean cleared his throat, belatedly realizing that he was turning the camera over in his hands. He tugged off one of his gloves with his teeth and drew out the silver camera from the leather case and ran his fingers over the cold body. Absently, he experimented with the settings, pressing the viewfinder up to his squinting eyes and making adjustments. While fiddling he continued, “I wasn’t kidding about the nudity. But, ah. I don’t really hold it against her. I’m a lousy boyfriend, I didn’t even discover them together or anything. She just came around to tell me what had been going on. I had no idea.” He sighed. “Hard to believe I had myself convinced that I loved her when we barely even saw each other.” He cleared his throat again, speaking more evenly, “Not much as far as sob stories go. I’ve never been much of a relationship guy; ladies or dudes, it’s never really evolved into ‘Facebook Official’ if you know what I mean.” He tried to imagine for a moment Castiel Novak, billionaire author editing his Facebook relationship status, and smiled. “Yeah, you don’t know what I mean.”

Dean studied those blue eyes for any hint of emotion but their depths revealed little. Castiel was evidently content to stare right back at Dean interminably, that is, until he swung his jaw away.

“Do you hear that rustling over in those branches?” Sparing only a momentary frown of confusion, Dean steered his gaze to the tree Castiel indicated with an arm and saw nothing but a light quivering of branches. Castiel stood abruptly from the log-bench and scrambled down the slope a dozen or so yards in the opposite direction of where he had pointed to a space that opened out into a semi-clearing. When the ground leveled out he picked his steps very, very carefully before dropping down into a wide crouch and then collapsing to his back. With mounting alarm, Dean nearly slid down the slope after him but then held back when he caught on. Puzzlement replaced apprehension as he watched Castiel extend his arms and legs out at perpendicular angles and draw sweeping patterns at his sides into the snow. Dean wasn’t sure if Castiel wanted him to join him at his side or leave him alone to some goofy LA hippie meditation involving snow angels in the ass-end of nowhere. He inhaled, ready to voice his thoughts aloud when a large shadow passed swiftly overhead.

Dean flinched at the rush of air and stared, stunned, as a bird landed on a tree branch past Castiel, snow cascading in a white puff as the branch swayed precariously under the new weight. The thing was big and brown, some sort of bird of prey. It shifted on its feet, wings partially extended for balance. Dean meant to call out to Castiel, a warning or some exclamation, but his throat caught instead. He shivered despite the body heat he still retained from their ascent. Below, Castiel still lay supine in the snow, but his face was angled towards the raptor. Dean couldn’t make out his expression beyond that until Castiel flicked his eyes back to Dean and a wide smile spread across his face. 

Dean frowned but stood still. Slowly, Castiel drew his feet in and lifted up into a cross-legged position, neck twisted to face the bird. His furry hood was still flipped up. The bird spread its’ wings again then, launching from the tree right for Castiel. Dean did yell then, something harsh and incoherent and he only managed to abort a full-on launch down the hillside when he saw Castiel raise his arm out, not in defense but as an offer. The bird alighted on it, talons squeezing tightly into the fabric and for the first time Dean was glad that the man made Ralph’s little brother Randy look underdressed by comparison. Dean was frozen in place and completely enraptured by the image of Castiel, seated perfectly in the center of a clearly-outlined snow angel with some damn bird happily engaged in a staring match with the man. 

So much for eccentric. He was fucking  _ insane _ . 

Tugging his other glove off, Dean clipped off the lens cap and brought the viewfinder up to his face, adjusting zoom and focus settings. He snapped photos as quietly as possible, not daring to breathe or move. Dean had no idea how much time had passed before the bird started to fidget, preening its feathers. Castiel looked equally relaxed, despite the small shaking of his arm under all of the weight. Dean captured it through his lens, all the way until the bird finally flapped its wings and took flight again. Once the creature was out of sight, Dean collapsed to his knees and finally let out a shaky breath. He tucked the camera back into its pouch and set it on the log before practically falling down the hill onto Castiel.

He dropped back down to his knees and grabbed Castiel’s shoulders firmly, releasing one to sweep the hood back and reveal more of Castiel’s face. “Cas? Hey, man.”

Castiel’s blue eyes were bright but unfocused. He finally reached up a hand to Dean’s arm, smiling slightly. “It’s fine, Dean.”

Dean huffed out a laugh, releasing Castiel and falling back on his hands. They both sat there, breathing heavily, and Dean willed his heartbeat back to a normal pace. When he finally lifted his gaze back to Castiel, he raked a hand through his hair and said, “Holy  _ shit _ .”

An especially icy gust of wind flipped up Castiel’s hood and licked across Dean’s damp face and the two men both realized simultaneously how much later it had gotten. Luckily, making their way back with the guidance of their own footprints down the hill was quick work. 

Before the final stretch leading up to the cabin, Dean said, “I think I might buy into that rumor.”

Castiel did not look up from the ground, but replied, “Which one is that?”

“You know.” Dean intoned, “You being a wizard with the memory spell thing. There’s no way you’re an em-em- _ whatever.” _

He glanced over in time to see a small smile just before it disappeared. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11/30: Updated to include missing section

_“Dean, I don’t know what the hell is going on, still. No one in your family is answering so I assume you’re all up at the cabin. I had no choice – this British chick showed up looking for Novak and threw a royal fit and now the police want to know where the hell you’re at._

…

_“It’s driving me crazy, not being able to reach you guys, because I know if everything’s fine I shouldn’t be able to but the thing with the gun and Novak and the mood you were in, I just don’t know if you’re in danger or if this guy has done something to you. Just. Please call me back. Bye.”_

~~~~~~~

Two of Dean’s favorite smells were that of the blast of hot air from the laundry dryer vent and onions sautéing in butter. The first one spoke to his irrepressible inner neat-freak, Sam would argue, while the latter simply spoke to the fact that Dean was a man and every man’s most cherished pastime was eating. Both scents enveloped the two men when they re-entered the cabin and Dean sighed with pleasure after inhaling a long breath. 

Immediately overheated by the relative heat of the cabin in comparison with the outdoors, Cas began the long task of divesting of his winter armor while Dean could barely keep his eyes open, much less suppress his yawns. His body was already carrying him over to the couch, which looked a lot more comfortable than pre-hike Dean had given it credit for. 

“Ah ah ah.” Mary, hands on hips, intercepted him. Dean frowned. “This isn’t your bachelor pad. I can’t have you all over the furniture like _that._ You smell offensive.”

Dean groaned. It was true that between the snow on the outside and the sweat from within, all of his layers were thoroughly damp and more than a little pungent.

“You can share the guest shower with Cas. Fresh towels’re in the cupboard.”

Dean carefully suppressed that particular mental image, instead shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the rack, then waving halfheartedly at Cas to take the first crack at the shower. He sat on the creaky wooden chair beside the door and tugged off his boots one at a time and leaned his head back to pillow against the wall. Mary poured something into the saucepan and then pulled one of the dining room chairs over to plop next to Dean, chin resting on arms crossed over the chair back. 

“Nice walk?”

Dean nodded, a wry grin forming. “If by ‘walk’ you mean trudging through miles of deep snow.” He jutted his chin towards the stove. “Smells awesome in here. Those cooking classes must really be paying off.”

Mary chuckled. “Better thirty years late than never, right?” Dean heard the squeal of the shower coming on. 

“What happened to Sam and Jess? I thought they were supposed to be wreaking havoc in here.”

Mary shrugged, smiling. “Sam took care of the prime rib before crashing like a downed elk. Jess went off to grade projects, I think Bobby’s reading with her. She promised to boot his butt out of bed when you guys got home.” His mom spoke again, eyes not quite meeting his. “I’m really glad Cas joined you this weekend. If I’d known who he was, I wouldn’t have been so push–”

“Mom, it’s fine, really. It all worked out in the end.”

She kept her voice down, but her words came out in a rush. “He’s been lovely. Is he having a good time, do you think? He’s not exactly your usual date.” Dean raised a brow and she sighed. “I mean he’s not casual. I _get_ that he’s this famous celebrity but that’s not it, he seems different from all that. Not quite like any of _us_ either, don’t get me wrong. He just feels…more. Vibrant, maybe? Like he’s a character from one of his books, come to life. There’s nothing casual about him.”

Dean considered this, thinking back to the peculiar episode with the bird.

“I’m your mom, and it’s my first instinct to worry about you, so let me get this out at least once.” Dean lifted his head off the wall and met her concerned gaze. “Be careful, Dean. You’d give any stranger on the street the shirt off your back, and we all love that about you. I’m sure Cas does.” Dean felt his blood rushing in his ears and swallowed thickly. Mary paused to purse her lip. “I read the papers and watch the news. His world chews up and spits out nice guys like you. I’m sure he knows that too and that’s why you’re in this,” she waved an arm abstractly. “Whatever you’d call this. Limbo?” 

“We’re just taking it slow, Mom.” He smirked, hoping it wasn’t a wince. “Casual, you know?”

His mother rolled her eyes, then pointed to his lap. “Any luck out there?”

Dean looked down, almost surprised to see the camera. He held it up, turning it over carefully, pleased to see it remained dry. “Oh, actually–”

“Dean.” Dean looked up and Mary twisted around to see Cas emerge from the bathroom, fully clothed. “Bathroom’s free.”

Dean rose to his feet, crossing to the bathroom and latching the door shut. Once inside, he breathed out deeply in relief, running a hand through his hair. He ran his hands under the faucet, icy water slowly growing lukewarm. Cupping his palms, he gathered the water up and splashed it over his face. He bent forward, hands gripping at the counter. He stared at his white knuckles, then up into the mirror. Water collected on his nose and chin, dripping into the sink and he blinked. Sweat and water mingled at his hairline, sparkling. His reflection stared back, tired and frowning, with what looked like more than twenty-nine years etched around his eyes. 

He could hear Jess's voice muffled by the door as he turned the shower nob. Layer by layer he undressed, tossing the damp clothes into the corner. The cupboard was stuffed with towels like Mary had said, so he drew one out and set it atop the counter. In the mirror he looked over his bared top, wincing at the bruises forming on his chest and the pudge at his waist. He imagined Cas would be pleased to see the damage he’d wrought.

Dean tested the water, then cranked the knob even further to the left, praying to any gods for the cabin to have a sturdy water heater. Under the hot rush, Dean’s eyes slipped shut and let the water draw attention to the deep aches from his interrupted night’s sleep on the hard attic floor, his nasty landing during the hockey game, followed by the trek through endless snow drifts. Steam filled the little bathroom and Dean’s skin prickled from the scalding water. The humidity forced his mouth to fall open, and he breathed heavily. His hands drifted over his arm muscles then dipped down to his lower back, massaging the tender flesh. He ached for a nap and a cocktail of Tylenol and Advil, or hell, just a plain old cocktail. The thought of another night on the floorboards made him grimace. 

Some time later Dean whispered his gratitude to whichever higher power had answered his prayer for prolonged hot water, reluctantly twisting the knob until the shower screeched dry. He snatched the towel and pressed his face into it, chest rising and falling at a much calmer rate. He scrubbed the back of his head with the towel, belatedly realizing he hadn’t thought to grab a change of clothes. He curled his lip in distaste at the pile on the floor and instead opted to wrap the towel around his hips. 

Out in the hallway, Dean could see his brother and his wife busy in front of the kitchen counter and Cas seated at the table. He swung his head back and forth, looking for Mary, and called out, “Mom? Where’s the laundry?” 

Jess turned around and responded instead, “Closet down that way. Washer should be free, right Sam?” His brother shrugged and Jess gave Dean a pained look. Dean gave her a smile, balling his dirty clothes up. When he looked away his eyes landed back on Cas, who was bent over a trash bin with a potato peeler in hand. Cas was looking at Dean, no, _lingering_ on Dean’s exposed skin. Nothing about his expression revealed any conclusions of his appraisal and Dean twitched, torn between scurrying off and confronting the man for his long stare. 

Unable to hold his tongue, he drawled, “Easy there Cas, or you won’t have any potato left to peel.”

Cas’ fingers froze and he blushed hard, eyes flicking away and then to meet Dean’s. Unable to suppress his satisfaction, Dean winked and walked away. Thrill pulsed in his chest and he found the laundry closet, tossing his clothes into the washer. After making sure the coast was clear, he clutched the towel close and clambered up the ladder to get dressed. As he crested the top of the loft he stopped at the sight of the bed and wilted. 

“Ah, fuck it.”

He knelt beside his bag and pulled out his pajama pants and a bottle of ibuprofen. After slipping on the pants and popping two pills, he crashed onto the bed.

~~~~~~~

Dean awoke with a long yawn, sitting up in the mattress and rolling his head a few times. His muscles still felt sorely abused, but at least his mind felt more rested. Swinging his legs over the side, he noticed a neat stack of clean laundry, most of which he’d left in the washer. The sight made him smile sleepily, and he pulled on a sweater and climbed downstairs. 

The silky tones of Sinatra met him in the hallway, along with intensified smells of food cooking. At the end of the hallway Sam and Jess were laughing and kissing, Sam’s hands steady on her hips. She wore a dress and her hair was made up, and his brother wore an honest-to-God tie. Dean walked their way and rolled his eyes, clearing his throat.

“Get your own cabin,” he muttered.

“Oh, he lives again!” Jess exclaimed dramatically.

His brother smirked and said, “Honestly Dean, what does Cas have you up to that you have to sleep the entire day away?”

Dean flipped them both the bird and shoved past into the kitchen, rubbing his hands together and sniffing the air like a hound. He almost did a double-take at the sight of his mother, clad in a dress covered with a cooking apron and oven mitts. The apron had _frills._

As if summoned, Mary turned around to Dean and huffed out a breath. “Nice timing. I was just about to send someone to get you. Here, set these out.” She passed him a stack of plates and gestured to the table, then looked him up and down. “Pajama pants?”

Dean shrugged and set to arranging the plates and cutlery then raked his hand through his hair roughly. In the midst of artfully folding the napkins into bunnies, he asked, “Where’s the rest of the party?”

Sam and Jess slid into the seats along the wall, and Jess picked up a napkin and marveled, “Ooh, Dean! These are adorable.”

Mary replied, “Having a chat on the porch, last I heard.”

The door opened just then, and Dean had to jump to the side to let Bobby roll in and settle in at the table, followed closely by Cas. The latter was once again bundled, though not as heavily, and his nose and cheeks were stained so rosy Dean thought, with no small hint of amusement, that he looked like an elf. 

“Dean?” He turned to his brother, questioning. Sam held out his arm towards the hallway and asked seriously, “Will you grab my glass from the foyer? I think I left it on the windowsill.”

Dean retrieved the glass, stopping to let Cas into the bathroom as the door swung wide in the hallway. In that moment, Jess stifled laughter while Sam dramatically threw his head back and groaned. Dean frowned, handing the glass to Sam and settling back into his seat. Jess grabbed the nearly-empty Pinot Gris topped him off and they toasted. 

“Shoot, didn’t we bring that special bottle from Hendry’s?” Jess was looking at Sam with a very convincing version of his puppy-dog face. Sam cupped his chin, brow furrowed, then answered, “I think it’s in my suitcase. Dean?”

Dean huffed in annoyance but rose out of his chair once again. Sam and Jess's room was cozy, barely fitting the bed, nightstand, and dresser. Dean spotted piles of drawings, which he assumed belonged to Jess’s students, then Sam’s suitcase. Inside the clothes were rumpled and haphazard, bunched beside bundles of cords. He wrinkled his nose.

“Wait, Dean! Come back!”

Exiting their room, Dean scowled and stalked back to the dining room as Cas exited the bathroom. Dean stopped short, looking down at his pajama pants and turning back around. 

“Oh, _so_ close!” He looked back to see Jess slam her hand to the table, both she and her husband looking dismayed. 

“Damn.” Sam shook his head and tipped back his wine glass. 

Cas slid out a chair to sit down and Dean spread his arms in frustration. “What, there some kinda private drinking game you two are playing that involves ordering me around like a puppet?”

“Basically,” they chimed.

Dean waved them off. “Weirdos.” He grabbed his nicer pair of jeans and re-joined the family just as Cas was lowering his pan of brownies into the oven. Settling into his seat, he grinned at the spread of mashed potatoes, brussels sprouts, rice, and prime rib. 

~~~~~~~

“HA!”

“Goddamn _finally_.”

Abruptly cutting off their own story about a streaker at their farmer’s market, Sam and Jess stared at Dean and Cas expectantly, glee sparkling in their semi-glassy eyes. Mary rolled hers and pointed above their heads. With dread, Dean looked up and spotted the tell-tale green of mistletoe, no doubt tacked up by his beanpole brother. He sneaked a glance over and recognized the expression of realization mirrored in Cas’ eyes. 

“You know the rule!” Sam prompted, and Dean gulped. 

Mustering as much indignation as possible, he retorted shakily, “Oh come on, this is a setup! Not everyone is as obsessed with PDA as much as you two.”

“Oh, that’s rich Mr. ‘Made Out with Rhonda Hurley at my _high school graduation party.’_ Our grandmother was there!”

Dean spluttered, brows scrunching up until Cas grabbed Dean’s face and surged forward, kissing him with all the surety of a practiced boyfriend. Dean’s eyes slipped closed instinctively and his hands rested on the Cas’ biceps, his mind plunging back to that brief moment on the ice when all he could think about were those lips…

Too soon Cas was pulling away, and Dean’s eyes fluttered open to see his mouth flushed red and eyes guarded. Dean’s heart pumped hard in his chest as he struggled to wrap his head around the fact that _holy shit he’d just been kissed by **Castiel Novak**._

After what seemed like an hour, Sam and Jess’s hooting and hollering died down. 

“Man, it’s too bad I didn’t snap a photo of that. That’d fetch me, what, at least a couple thousand?”

“Don’t joke about that shit, Sam. I’m saving up a whole stash of those photos in case I’m ever out on my ass, broke. Man’s gotta eat.”

Cas averted his eyes, shuffling awkwardly to the stove to slip on oven mitts and draw out the hot dish. He rested it on the stovetop and turned to lean against the cabinets. Dean couldn’t help but spare him a glance every few seconds, as if to check if he was really there. Sam drew his attention back to the table.

“I was sure you were fucking with us. You kept getting _so close.”_

“ _Me?_ Fucking with you? With all the wild goose chases you’ve sent me on since I came down for dinner?”

Bobby interrupted, “Is it about time for eggnog?” He pushed his empty plate forward and crossed his arms. “I should be fit to burst after that meal, but I think I can make some room for dessert.”

“Dean, would you go and–”

“ _Eat me_ , Sam.”

“I would If I had the room.”

Jess collected the empty wine bottles from the table, patting Dean placatingly on the shoulder, and went to the fridge to retrieve the eggnog and rum. Dean began clearing away the dishes from the table, stacking them beside the sink. Cas sidestepped carefully, pulling down a clean platter from one cabinet and stacking slices of warm brownies onto it. 

The small party migrated to the more-comfortable sofa and armchairs, sinking into the cushions, each member at varying degrees of buzzed and boneless. After snatching a brownie from the plate, Jess curled into Sam’s side on the sofa next to Mary. Dean set the platter on the coffee table and plopped into an armchair, sighing with pleasure as _Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas_ began softly. The lights on the tree grew blurry as he let his eyes rest and grow unfocused. It was hard to reconcile the moment with the last time he’d heard the song. When he took his first bite of the brownie he tipped his head back and moaned.

“Damn, Cas. Quit the writing and show-biz, you could really hit the big-time as a baker.”

The others muttered their agreement. It wasn’t long until only one piece remained, surrounded by chocolate-y crumbs. 

Mary leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and held the plate out. “Now, in the spirit of _Notting Hill_ ,” 

Cas looked puzzled. Dean groaned and clarified, “You know, the last brownie. To the saddest act here, as it were.”

Sam added, “Yeah Cas, tell us all about how fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sure you’ve got your looks and your talent and all that money, but you’re at least twice as miserable as any of us, right?”

Bobby huffed. “Jesus Sam, did you miss the entire point of the scene? It was because she was a _woman_ in Hollywood _._ No offense to you, Cas.”

Cas nodded. “No, the fame _is_ pretty nice. I get to meet incredible people, bring enormous light to the issues I care about.” He smiled. “And you probably wouldn’t believe what they hand out in the swag bags at awards shows these days, extravagant getaways, iPhones, Korean face creams, diamonds.”

Jess mouthed to Dean, _dibs._

Bobby beckoned at Mary for the plate and plucked the brownie. “No one’s gonna challenge me on this, huh?”

Dean shook his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Not because you’re the saddest act, which is obviously Sam based on that haircut, but because I know you keep an Ithaca 37 hidden away in there.”

Bobby grunted at that. 

~~~~~~

This time, it was Jess who started snoring first. Sam stood, carrying his wife bridal-style to their bedroom and bidding everyone goodnight. Nodding to Dean and Cas, he said, “You two are on Santa watch, you know, up in the loft. Listening out for ‘the prancing and pawing of eight tiny reindeer’ and all that.”

Dean reluctantly lifted himself out of the armchair, bones creaking. He hugged his mother and smiled to Bobby and they both made their way to their respective bedtime routines. When he turned back to face Cas, who was already filling a sink with water, he wrung his hands and scratched the back of his head. “Hey, uh. Sorry about that, back there with the, you know.” He stuck his thumb at the offending mistletoe. “I know I promised no physical stuff.”

Cas shrugged, leaving it at that. Dean cleared his throat. “You don’t have to clean up after us, Cas. You probably don’t even do that at home.”

Cas mumbled something and Dean rolled his sleeves up and set to scrubbing. After a moment, Cas spoke, tone reflective. “You know, during the Roman era, enemies at war would reconcile their differences under the mistletoe, which to them represented peace.”

Dean smiled. “You ever been accused of mansplaining, Cas?”

“What’s ‘mansplaining’?”

“Oh hell no, I’m not falling into that trap. Just tell me more about mistletoe.”

Cas continued, unfazed. “If you consume the berries you will likely vomit or have diarrhea.”

“Well, that’s just the height of romance.”

“That’s not the first time you’ve accused me of ‘romance’.”

“Yeah well, gotta keep up the act right?” Cas yawned, wiping at his eyes with his forearm. Dean pursed his lips. “Cas, why don’t you head on up. Unlike me, you haven’t had a nap and if my mom catches you doing any more work she’s gonna smack me.”

For once, Cas barely put up a fight, protesting only minimally before trudging off to the bathroom, exhaustion poorly concealed.

Dean scrubbed hard at the dishes, grateful for the activity despite his own growing fatigue. His emotions were all muddled, a tangle of warmth and anxiety, mixed signals and sorrow. He didn’t even detect when Bobby joined him at his elbow.

“Hey, Bobby.” Dean shut off the faucet and rubbed the dry cloth over his hands. “What’s up?” Bobby looked like he would rather be anywhere else, and Dean felt the hairs on his neck rise.

“I ain’t buying the shit you’re trying to pass off as gold.”

Dean blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I may look old as the rocks and hills to you but I don’t live under ‘em. I know how folks in a _real_ relationship act, and this ain’t it. Even when they’re both men.” 

Dean opened his mouth to speak and Bobby cut him off. “I won’t sit here like some Nosy Nelly and demand you come clean but I do know that your Daddy was a born liar and you haven’t inherited the talent. Neither does Novak strike me as the type, but I’ve been wrong before.” He uncurled his fist. “I don’t know if this cock-and-bull story is some game you’re playing at, if you’re trying to lash out at your father,”

Dean frowned at that.

“Or if you’re in some kind of trouble, but I hope I don’t have to lecture you like some schoolboy about actions and consequences.”

Dean had no chance to respond before Jess padded into the hallway, pausing under the mistletoe. “Am I interrupting?”

Bobby raised his hands and Jess smiled politely, passing to the sink and filling a glass with water. In explanation, she said, “For Sam and I, after all that alcohol. I don’t want to hate myself on Christmas morning.”

Bobby gave Dean a long look before retreating after her, and Dean leaned against the counter once they were gone, his insides churning more than ever. The food and alcohol were the least to blame. 

~~~~~~~

In the loft, Dean moved quietly, expecting to find a sleeping Cas. The man was instead awake, perched on the edge of the mattress and looking toward Dean’s camera. Thinking back to their hike, Dean cringed and cleared his throat. Apologetic, he ground out. “I can hand over the film if you want, or destroy it. I don’t know what I was thinking, photographing you like some papp.”

“It’s a film camera?” Cas asked instead. 

Dean reached out and grabbed the strap, pulling the camera free from the bag. He brushed his thumb over the side of it. “Sure is. One of the best ones around, too. Single-stoke, great condition.” He held it out to Cas, who hesitated before accepting it gingerly. 

Surprised, Cas said, “It’s heavy.” He turned it over, then held it up to his eye to look through the viewfinder. “Where did you get it?”

Dean swallowed thickly. “Belonged to my grandpa Henry. He was a journalist, back in the day. I was just a kid when he died, but he wanted me to have it.” He smiled sadly. “I used to run around telling everyone I was going to be an artist-slash-firefighter, whatever that is.”

Cas lowered the camera, offering it back to Dean, and said, “Sounds like a noble career to me.”

Dean set the camera back in its spot and ruffled around in his duffel bag and pulled the sweater off over his head, replacing it with a soft T-shirt. He tossed the freshly-cleaned set of pajamas at Cas’s chest. “I’ll turn around,” he volunteered, angling away from Cas and slipping on his sweats again. Once changed, he dangled his legs from the loft and stared out the window at the dull black of night, reflecting a dim outline of his body in the glass.

While Dean still faced away, Cas murmured, “Don’t destroy the photos on my account. I assure you there has been no offense.” After a bit of rustling he added, “You can turn around.” Dean twisted his neck hesitantly. Cas was changed, knees covered by the blankets but sitting up in the bed, situated all the way to the left. Softly, Cas said, “You should sleep on the mattress. I saw you clutching at your back all night like my great aunt.” He lifted the edge of a thick blanket bunched up beside him.

Again, Dean felt unbidden warmth rush through him at Cas’s display of kindness, followed bitterly by uneasiness and guilt and distrust. Cas had gone and said he was going to act like a great guy, and he had kept his word so far. At the same time, there were the pauses, the glances after his shower, and the irrepressible memory of their kiss. The duplicity was choking. Bobby’s words echoed in his head, sending pain to his chest and setting his fingers to tremble.

“Are you alright?”

Dean set his jaw, loath to permit any emotion that would betray how _not_ alright he was. He choked, “I could take you back.” He held his breath through Cas’s silence, then continued in a rush, “Right now, if you want. I’ll go down and tell them all the truth. Hell, I could sneak us out and deal with the backlash when I get back, if you don’t want that mess. I coul–”

“No.” 

Dean stopped, finally turning his face to meet Cas’s.

Exhaling, Cas confessed, “Your family is loud. They probably drink too much wine, and their clear penchant for pranks gives me anxiety.” He paused, face still serious. “But I like them. I...trust them. And they clearly adore you.” At that, he quirked a smile. “I still don’t fully understand what motivated you to take such drastic measures to bring me here, but I can tell now that you had no idea as to my identity, or that I was supposed to be in Hawaii by n–”

Dean’s eyes widened and he sputtered, “ _Hawaii?_ Oh, Cas. That’s even worse than Christmas in LA; you’re serious? It’s _tropical.”_

Cas kicked at Dean from beneath the covers, completely ineffectual. “And you think _I’m_ the strange one.” He gestured with his hand for Dean to join him.

Dean numbly crawled up the mattress and laid on top of the covers, blanketing himself with the spare quilt and reclining back, suppressing a gasp at his protesting muscles. He settled a bent arm over his forehead.

Voice even, Cas continued, “We should complete your charade as planned, then go our separate ways. You can tell your family we broke up due to irreconcilable differences. Someone like you, dating someone like me, it just wasn’t possible.”

Cas settled onto his side next to him and Dean mirrored him, turning on his side to face the wall. Dean felt his throat tighten irrationally at Cas' words. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He and Cas weren’t together; there was no reason to mourn something that didn’t even exist. Closing his eyes, Dean willed his wracked body to surrender. 

Dean was wrenched from his downward spiral by a sudden bout of shivering from the other side of the bed. “You’re fucking cold again, aren’t you?”

A pause, followed by a muffled, “No.”

Dean rolled his eyes, then sighed and rose up on one elbow and draped his blanket over Cas’s form. “I’m just gonna mention, purely for your edification, what they say about conserving body heat…” He noted that Cas did not protest as Dean tucked the blanket in around his legs and shoulders; rather, a placid smile broke across his sleepy face. Feeling a deep ache, Dean did not think about how much he’d like to brush his fingers across that forehead to parse through soft, dark hair. Instead, he collapsed back onto the bed with a shiver of his own, one unrelated to the temperature in the loft. 

“Shh th’vers w’me.”

“What?”

Cas untucked his chin and slipped an arm out from his cocoon, tugging at the blankets and directing Dean a long-suffering gaze. “You are going to freeze.”

Dean rolled his eyes but lifted the covers nonetheless, scooting his legs underneath and carefully avoiding contact with Cas. When they settled down again, Dean said abruptly, “Sorry about Hawaii.”

“Don’t be.” Cas chuckled lowly. “It’s my agent you should apologize to; she despises the snow.”

“Mmm,” Dean hummed, before yawning. 

“Tell me about a dream.”

Dean raised his brows. “You mean like something I want to do?”

Cas shook his head. “No, an actual dream you’ve had. While asleep.”

“You want the X-rated or Disney version?”

This time, Castiel rolled his eyes. “Piper came to me in a dream. It was easily the best one I’d ever had, and I woke up feeling…” He took a long breath, thoughtful. “Everything. Like the ground had shifted, like I had learned a new language overnight, like—”

“Like magic?” Dean was smirking, but Cas nodded.

“Yes, exactly.”

“It’s mostly nightmares for me. But I do have this recurring dream, out by a lake. On a dock, fishing. Not exactly world’s bestselling book series material, but. Still a nice dream.” Dean yawned again. The men lay still, side by side. While no physical contact point existed between them, each could feel the other in places physically impossible to touch.

After a time, Cas whispered, “I’m a terrible actor, just so you know. Manufacturing thoughts, feelings, it’s hard enough to do on paper. This energy between us...I don’t think I could fake that.” He held his breath, cracking open his eyes to peek at Dean, but the other man was fast asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_“Hi Dean. It’s Jo, obviously. Again. Anyways, I told them what little I knew and they were concerned about the gun, of course. Well, truth be told, they were more freaked out_ before _Mom showed them a photo of it, but anyways_

_(garbled)_

_“like I said Novak left his stuff here and still no one’s heard from him, so I told them where you were headed this weekend. The British chick is all riled up and trying to convince the cops something bad happened to Novak, even though apparently it’s not unheard of for this guy to drop off the grid. No one was thrilled to learn about your record, even though that stuff is from years ago. I hope everything is okay. This is nuts. Call me! Bye._

_“Oh! And Merry Christmas, I guess.”_

**Christmas Day**

For the first time, Dean wasn’t alone when he woke up. At some point in the night he had rolled onto his other side, and when he cracked his eye open he saw his arm flung out over Cas’s chest. The other man must have migrated too, as Dean found himself practically falling off the edge of the mattress with Cas pressed up against him. Careful not to disturb him, Dean stepped-slash-fell onto the wood floor of the loft, his bare toes curling against the cold. He stared out the window, transfixed by the swirling white flakes. 

There was a loud yawn and Dean turned to face Cas. The other man had sat up, wiping at his eyes, hair a tremendous mess. Dean grinned and greeted him, “Morning Sunshine.” Blue eyes blinked at him a few times and he added, “Merry Christmas.”

Cas grunted in reply, pulling the blankets back up to his shoulders. “‘s _cold_.”

Dean nodded, tossing him the folded cable-knit sweater. “I’ll go start coffee and check on the thermostat.” Dean looked further in his bag and drew out the only other clean sweater and muttered, “God help me.”

Downstairs, Dean rubbed at his arms as he headed for the kitchen where he found his mother at the stove, clad in her ski jacket and setting a kettle to boil. “Morning. Merry Christmas.” He frowned and asked, “Why’s it so dark in here?”

Mary smiled tightly, face drawn. “Good morning to you too, you’re up awfully early.” Dean shrugged and watched his breath swirl from his lips. She explained, “Storm apparently kicked up last night, knocked our power out. I was gonna have someone help me flip the breakers; the box is outside around the back.” Dean settled into an armchair and drew a blanket over his lap, his mom joining him in the opposite chair. “Looks like you’re the lucky contestant.” She inclined her head towards the stove. “Figured I should get some coffee brewed before sending anyone out in the snow.”

Dean scanned the room, reclining more deeply into the worn chair. “Kinda like the candlelit vibe. I should get the fireplace going again, make it real cozy.” He made no move to get up from his seat. Dean could tell by the way Mary flashed a quick smile at the space behind Dean’s chair that Castiel had crept downstairs to join them. Dean twisted to face him in time to catch Cas mid-shiver. _Figured_.

Dean said, “Power’s out. I need’t–” He paused abruptly to squeeze his eyes shut on a yawn before settling into a pout. “Go outside and flip the breaker.”

Cas didn’t look nearlysympathetic enough. Instead, he gestured to the stove. “Is this for coffee?”

Dean nodded, resigning himself to getting out of the comfy chair. “Yeah, here, let me get that brewing.” 

Cas tried to wave him off, but once he was on his feet Dean insistently shoved his blanket at Cas and led him into the armchair. “Pretty sure it’s my turn to dote on you.”

Satisfied that Cas would stay put, Dean stepped into the kitchen, bare feet protesting the whole way, and poured the kettle into the french press. “Cream or sugar?” he called out to them. 

Mary replied, “Just a splash for me, Dean. Thanks.” 

Cas shook his head, murmuring, “Black is fine.”

Dean delivered the coffees and leaned his back against the counter and gulped back his own steaming cup. He had scalded his tongue so many times in his thirty years on Earth that it was a wonder there were any functioning taste buds left. Once the mug was drained, Dean stared forlornly at the dregs in the French press. It wasn’t going to cut it, especially once the rest of the cabin was up and about. 

Dean wiggled into his boots and donned his coat, dramatically saluting his mother and Cas. He twisted the handle but the door remained stubbornly closed. He rammed his shoulder into it until it swung open a few inches and then squeezed out the door. Wind immediately assaulted his face and he tucked in his chin. Overnight, it had snowed at least a few inches and more flakes were lightly but steadily drifting to the ground. The wind had apparently blown drifts up against the house and the door. Dean crossed his shivering arms tight against his chest and quickly spotted the utility closet. Inside, he located the service panel and squinted at the switches, flipping them all to the ‘off’ position before switching the main. Once he turned the switches back to ‘on,’ he heard a satisfying buzz and the muffled sound of resuming music inside the cabin.

“Well look at that, it’s a Christmas miracle.” Dean stuck his tongue out between his chattering teeth in a shaky grin, closing the panel back up. He hurried back around to the door, stopping momentarily to peek through the window at Cas, who had gotten up to the counter with his coffee. Dean spied on him with untempered disgust as the man emptied a horrifying three whole packets of sugar into his mug.

He shook his head before opening the door to the roar of the stereo. “That takes care of anyone still sleeping,” he announced over the blaring sound as he entered the cabin, quickly shutting the door behind him before the wind could blow any snow drifts inside. He removed his boots, which had already tracked in slush from outside onto the mat. Walking over to the kitchen counter, Dean dumped out the cold leftover coffee and replaced the carafe, starting up the Mr. Coffee machine. 

The combination of music playing and coffee aroma coaxed the rest of the guests from their rooms. They all piled into the living room and kitchen, rubbing at their eyes and yawning but gazes warm. Everyone exchanged their morning greetings and lined up for their respective hit of caffeine, Sam and Jess wisely behind Bobby. 

Once they settled, Mary tested, “How does everyone feel about holding off on presents until after breakfast?”

The four others exchanged questioning looks and shrugs. No one was going to object to getting breakfast on the table sooner. Deviating from the Hallmark movie script his mother had been faithfully reproducing was a little odd, but he supposed racing to the tree on Christmas morning to bust open gifts from Santa Claus was reserved for the under-fifteen crowd. The thought reminded Dean of something and he moved over next to Cas and lightly squeezed his arm.

“Hey, can you help me with something?” Under his breath, he explained, “I forgot to haul the presents in from the car.”

Cas nodded warily, searching Dean’s face for any subterfuge. 

Dean smiled encouragingly and said, “I promise not to throw you in the trunk bound and gagged.” Completely inappropriately, he followed the statement up with a wink.

~~~~~~~

Outside, the two men stood still in front of the open trunk of the Impala.

Cas stared blankly. “There’s a stuffed pheasant in your trunk.”

Dean sighed, “It’s not mine.” He didn’t bother getting into the long story about the neighbor’s damaged bird. Some things were just better left unexplained. He clarified, “The bird, I mean.” Dean wrapped his hands around the stack of wrapped presents and went to shut the trunk before frowning thoughtfully at Cas. “Crap, I don’t have a gift for you.”

“I’m shocked,” Cas deadpanned, “Everything else about this scheme was so superbly well-thought out.”

Dean ignored him, shoving the gifts into his arms and then hesitantly reached for the pheasant tucked against the interior side of the trunk, careful to grab it by its wooden base and avoid its dead staring eyes. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. Cas gave him a withering look, probably caught somewhere between disgust and disbelief. “Look man, it’s either this or,” he swung around, gesturing at the surrounding wilderness. “I find a live one scampering around in the woods and give you that instead.” He looked at Cas, expectant.

Cas looked around, considering. “I’m thinking about it.” He squinted and asked casually, “What about the car?” 

“What about it?”

Cas raised his eyebrows.

Dean spluttered. “My - my _car_? The fact that you even talk about her like she’s some, some,” He pointed a finger, his nose twitching. “ _You’re_ the Bill Gates here. Get your own classic Impala. I’m gonna go wrap this.” He turned to the house with the bird, which was quickly gathering a dusting of snow, leaving Cas behind.

“Bill and Melinda have gotten me better than a _dead bird,”_ Dean thought he heard Cas grumble before trudging after Dean. 

Back inside, Cas headed for the tree with the wrapped boxes while Dean crept into the loft and set the taxidermy fowl down carefully, pulling a few sheets of tissue paper from a gift bag. After wrapping it up, he frowned at the ugly thing. Compared to the nice wrapping paper and gift bags for the rest of his family, the thing was horrendous. He’d have to pass it off as a gag gift. What on Earth could he possibly (pretend to) get for someone like Cas? The guy could probably buy Idaho itself. He descended back down the ladder and returned to the warmth of the living room, sneaking the wrapped bird as covertly as possible and setting it next to the rest of the family’s presents under the tree. The last thing he needed was Sam giving him a hard time before it had even been opened.

In the kitchen, Dean, Cas,, and Sam awkwardly hovered while Mary fastened on her apron and rolled up her sleeves, looking carefully over her printed recipes with Bobby. Dean and Cas had already been informed they were off the hook for cooking once again until later that night for dinner. Jess deftly moved around them both to lower a pie dish in the oven. 

Before Dean could get his hopes up, Jess explained, “I’m an even worse cook than Sam, but I do keep the Moore family quiche recipe up my sleeve for occasions like this.”

Dean hid his disappointment, glad for Castiel’s gracious smile. Knowing the free spirited Santa Cruz-born Moores, it probably didn’t even have any bacon. He turned back to his mother and Bobby. “Any way we can assist?” Dean yelled over the music. 

“Yeah, you can skedaddle before I run over your feet.” Bobby looked pointedly at him and Dean raised his arms, retreating away from the dining table. He collapsed back into the couch instead, soon joined by Sam, Jess, and Cas in the sitting area out of harm’s way.

Eyes landing on Dean’s sweater, Sam barked out a laugh.

Scowling, Dean retorted, “Shouldn’t you be wearing that poinsettia monstrosity? The one that looks like Sweetums from Sesame Street, but with antlers?” 

Jess laughed at that, clapping Sam on the back. Dean’s brother looked slightly less amused.

Castiel cleared his throat and pointed at the coffee table, where a large stack of thick paper was arranged. Dean assumed it was from Jess’s class’ assignments that she was in the midst of grading. 

“May I take a look?” Cas asked.

Jess nodded, taking a swig from her glass of water. “Of course.” 

Dean watched with interest as Cas carefully leafed through the pieces of art and smiled to himself. Looking down at the works, Dean’s brows raised in surprise. Each painting was a watercolor of a different house, all of them embellished with flecks of white paint to resemble falling snow. Despite the occasional messy lines, most of them were still unmistakably Victorian. Some of them featured characters, children and pets and what Dean guessed were various family members. 

Cas lingered on one piece with a plain beige house that was very much _not_ a Victorian like the others. Instead it was completely covered with little creatures. He squinted harder. They were perched owls, of every size and species.

Jess smiled knowingly. “Thought you might like that one. Maria is a _total_ fangirl.”

“How old are your students?”

“Second and third graders.”

“These are very impressive. You must be an excellent teacher.”

Jess demurred, “The kids are super talented. It makes my job easy.”

Sam smiled at his wife. “You’re a public school teacher _and_ an accomplished artist; I don’t think anyone here believes your job is _easy.”_

Jess gazed back with a mixture of exasperation and deep fondness before turning to Dean. 

“How about you Dean? I feel like we’ve barely caught up. Ellen still working your nose to the grindstone?”

Dean laughed gruffly. “Yeah, same old song and dance. Keeps me on my toes, between the drunk tourists and touring drunks.” The words felt hollow, almost dark. Listening to his brother and Jess talk about their lives and their work filled him with a mixture of pride, envy, and loss. By comparison, Dean’s life felt small. He couldn’t even place his existence with someone like Cas’ on the same scale. 

“What about those classes you were thinking about taking?” Sam looked at him in earnest, but Dean shook his head. His chest was immediately too tight. It wasn’t worth getting into the details of his financial situation, or the extent of his support of his mother’s medical bills. He had resolved a long time ago not to burden Sam and his new wife, especially when they had such hefty student loans to pay off.

“Sam?” Mary beckoned him over, gesturing to the top shelf of one of the cabinets. Sam got up and assisted her and Dean stood up too, ready for his next round of coffee. Before he could reach the carafe, he was intercepted by Sam. His eyes fixed on Dean’s, his expression serious. 

“Can we talk?”

Dean gestured back and forth between them. “Looks like the answer is self-evident.”

Sam pinched his mouth and crowded Dean out the kitchen door onto the patio and shut the door behind them. Dean crossed his arms tight against the cold, scowling up into the swirling snow. “Look Sam, if this is about Cas–”

“Cas? No, not really. Are _you_ okay? Back there, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s fine. _I’m_ fine. More than fine.”

Sam studied him, then relented. “You seem good for each other, you and Cas. I wish you guys luck.”

“Thanks. You think we can go b-back inside?” 

“Yeah.” Sam grasped Dean’s arm. “Wait.” His worried expression was back. “Do you think Mom’s okay? She’s acting weird.”

“Oh, you’ve just n-n-now noticed huh?”

Sam scowled, his nostrils flaring. “I’ve _noticed_ her ‘cult of domesticity’ kick. I’m talking about this morning. She seems off, sick maybe.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, comprehending. “You’re thinking it’s recurrence. That the cancer’s back.”

Sam shrugged. Dean licked his dry lips, immediately regretting it, and rubbed at his temple. “I think you’re overreacting. Mom would tell us if that were the case.”

Dean turned back towards the cabin to hurry inside, then stopped. He turned his head towards the driveway, ears picking up on the familiar sound of tires on gravel, barely perceptible over the wind. With mounting dread he walked around the side of the cabin to get a closer look, picking out bright headlights through the falling snow. He should have realized someone like Castiel Novak couldn’t go missing for long before the entire world was chasing him down.

Sam trailed close behind him, squinting at the light. “We’re not expecting anyone, right?”

The lights grew brighter and the vehicle came into view, a snow-dusted but unmistakably black pickup truck. 

Dean stopped shaking, his entire body going rigid. “No fucking way.”

The truck rolled to a stop, wipers ceasing and lights dimming out. Through the windshield, Dean locked eyes with none other than John Winchester. 


End file.
